Like Father, Like Son
by Mariadoria
Summary: It all started with a blond strand of hair. From there, all Harry Potter has known about his life begins to unravel as he finds out the truth about his past and who he is, unearthing secrets that he didn't believe possible and finding family he didn't know existed. But maybe these changes could be a new beginning, a blessing in disguise, if he looks at it the right way.
1. A Blond Strand of Hair

_Before I start this story, I just wanted to say that I have permission to use the idea of the sperm bank and glamour. I got the idea from Njchrispatrick and his wonderful story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years.' I highly recommend that you go and check it out before you read this. The quality of writing is phenomenal and the story is really, really sweet. So, if there are certain similarities, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

Nine months after the end of the second Wizarding War, Harry Potter noticed something strange.

He was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, lopping off bits of hair that flopped into his eyes too often. Due to the unruly nature of it, he was able to get away with uneven bit without no-one being any the wiser. Plus, it meant he saved a few galleons on a haircut. Honestly, the prices that people charged him just because he was famous. He wasn't quite sure how they could justify it, but he wasn't going to go rifling around inside their heads looking for the answer.

Just as he was about to take the last piece off, a blond strand of hair fell into his hands. Harry narrowed his eyes and held it up in front of him, squinting at it. That was...odd. Maybe the spell has a side effect where it occasionally changed your hair colour? It had never done it before. The laws of magic were steadfast as they came, so maybe that wasn't the answer. Perhaps a prank? Ron was constantly pranking everyone around him. Maybe that could be the answer.

No matter, it wasn't that important. It was possible that the strand of hair belonged to someone else, as well. Strange things consistently happened around him, so finding a hair belonging to a stranger tangled up in his own wasn't the most outrageous thing to happen to him. Only a few days ago, a howler filled with noises that were only meant to be heard in the bedroom found its way into his apartment, which was in the middle of Muggle london. To say it made him angry was an understatement. He made an urgent note to go to the Ward Specialists to get them his wards improved, especially against unsolicited mail.

After cleaning up the hair, Harry made his way into the kitchen and absentmindedly made a cup of tea. The sweet aroma calmed him down, like it always did. After the War, he took every chance he could to relax and stay calm, and if that meant drinking ten cups of tea a day, he would do it, dammit. Being relaxed stopped him from getting flashbacks. If he could stop those with tea, then sobeit. He took the occasional calming draught, but didn't rely on him. The last thing he wanted now was to become addicted to some potion. He'd seen the effects, and it wasn't pretty. Harry shivered at the thought.

Placing the tea on the rickety coffee table, Harry flopped back into the couch and picked up the pile of letters spread out over the couch. All of them contained job offers, each employer desperate to say that they had 'the Boy-Who-Lived' working for them. Harry grimaced at the much hated title. The title always came first, it was always what people saw. An idealized version of him that vastly differed from his true personality. Everyone liked to believe that he lived a lavish lifestyle, but in reality he was frugal and lived in a small flat. Another common belief was that he was surrounded by women and revealed the attention he received. This couldn't be more wrong.

Soon, though, he would have to find a job. For nine months he'd sat at home, not contacting anyone outside his main circle of friends, finding comfort in old muggle movies and his newly acquired cat, Shemia, a fluffy brown moggy who kept him awake all hours of the night. This couldn't continue for long. Rumours were beginning to fly and funds were beginning to dwindle. Well, the funds he'd set up for the year. He may have more money than he knew what to do with, but he wasn't going to spend it all. Maybe he could become a broomstick designer. The offers were certainly there in their multitudes. Not that he knew a single thing about broomstick designing or the Arithmancy it required.

So that was off the table.

A lot of offers came from the Ministry of Magic, where he absolutely refused to work. The expectation to become an Auror weighed heavy on his shoulders, dogging him at every turn. He wasn't going to become an Auror. That much was out of the question. Sure, he would be good at it, but that didn't matter. What he needed right now was a calm job, without stress or major worry. Something that would make him happy, while also making others happy.

A sudden idea struck him. Florean Fortescue's, the ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley, was still out of business. He could buy the premises and re-open it, put it back into business. The job wouldn't entail too much stress and was about as far away from the War he could get. Yes, that was what he was going to do.

Harry made a note to settle on it right there and then. He wasn't going to change his mind.

Suddenly invigorated, Harry took a long swig of tea and gathered up all the letters and pamphlets. He dumped them into the bin with a flourish. Now that he had somewhere to go, something to look forward to, a goal to work towards, everything seemed clear. His eyes began to itch slightly, so he took of his glasses and rubbed them. Unfortunately, this only made the itching worse.

"What on Earth," Harry muttered, sitting back down on the couch. He tried to focus on something else other than the itching, but it was virtually impossible. To his dismay, it began spreading, before turning into an intense burning sensation. Harry grit his teeth, fists clenching and unclenching, desperate for it to stop.

And suddenly it did.

Harry panted in relief, sweat dripping down his face. He wiped his forehead and suddenly paused. Something felt...off. There was definitely something different about his face and the way it felt under his hand. Panic flooded into his chest and he rushed to the bathroom, desperately looking into the mirror.

When he saw his reflection, Harry screamed, then fainted.

For the face in the mirror didn't belong to him.

* * *

_Hello. I hope you enjoyed this. This story is a little challenge I have set myself called 'The Garden,' where I write a chapter a day and upload it, with no real plan of where I want to take it. I'm interested to see what happens. _

_As I said before, go check out __**A Happy Accident: 70 Years **__by __**Njchrispatrick**__, which is where I found the inspiration for this story. _

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	2. Be Careful of Mrs Weasley's Firepoker

_Before I start this story, I just wanted to say that I have permission to use the idea of the sperm bank and glamour. I got the idea from Njchrispatrick and his wonderful story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years.' I highly recommend that you go and check it out before you read this. The quality of writing is phenomenal and the story is really, really sweet. So, if there are certain similarities, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

Harry Potter woke to his fluffy brown tortoiseshell cat Shemia padding all over his chest. She was meowing incessantly, like she always did when she wanted something. It was most likely food. She did this so often that he sometimes wondered if she was a black hole in disguise as a cat. The thought made him smile slightly. Adopting her from that shelter was one of the best things he'd ever done, even if she was a bloody nuisance groaned and gently swatted Shemia aside, beginning to haul himself to his feet.

Then he remembered what had happened and collapsed to the ground again, hitting a nerve in his elbow. Pait rocketed up his arm, sharp and short. Harry hissed in pain and tears began to form. Not from the pain, which was gone as soon as it came. No, from that one glance in the mirror, the one second where he took in everything that had changed about him.

He was...changed. Everything about his appearance had changed, from his hair to his eyes. Oh Merlin, his eyes. They were gone. No more green to be seen. And that wasn't even mentioning the face structure. Harry glanced down at his trembling hands and thinned his lips to stem the tears when he saw even those were changed. Instead of his old hands, with small palms and rather short fingers, the palms were now large, with long, slender fingers replacing his old ones. His wrists were extremely thin. It extended to his arms as well.

Desperately, Harry felt his face. He could be dreaming. That was always a possibility. Or maybe it was one of Ron's pranks. That was the most likely explanation. Okay, Harry thought, get a grip. He'd survived a war. He could survive this. Ron really had some explaining to do. The scale of this prank

With Shemia meowing around his ankles, Harry stood and gazed into his bathroom mirror. The face that stared back was a total stranger. His gleaming green eyes were now a light shade of blue, not unlike Ron's. They had a thick black outline, sitting under low, straight eyebrows, which gave him a strangely serious look. His chin was pointed, cheekbones higher and nose definitely larger. And atop his head sat a mop of blond hair, just grazing the tops of his eyebrows and horribly uneven, due to the cut he'd given it. The rest of his body didn't fare any better. Where he used to be quite robust in stature, he now stood an inch shorter and far thinner. He lifted up his shirt and could individually count all of his ribs.

"Haha, very funny, Ron," he muttered, scooping up Shemia. He walked out into the kitchen, promptly tripping over his own feet. He careened into the floor, landing hard. Shemia yowled at him and slashed a claw across his cheek, skittering off to hide under the couch. Her green eyes glowered out at him. Harry glowered right back, even going so far as to stick his tongue out. Honestly, that cat was a hellion at times. He couldn't count the scratches.

Apparently, with this new body he wasn't very coordinated at the moment. His thoughts were confirmed the second he took a step and crashed sideways into the kitchen cabinets. So, using the wall as support, he slowly made his way to the lounge, where the makeshift fireplace was located. He didn't have an owl, so a floo call was the next best option. He could only hope against hope that Ron was at the burrow. If he wasn't then one of his numerous family members would be able to get into contact with him fairly urgently. The level of magic on this one was incredible. Hermione had probably helped him with it. Or George.

Dust flew everywhere as he dug his hand into the floo pot. Coughing, Harry knelt down and chucked the floo powder onto the grate, while very clearly saying, "The Burrow." The flames blazed green. With a high (he really did dislike the floo) Harry stuck his head into the grate. He was terribly dizzy for a second, before his head emerged out of the fireplace at the Burrow in a puff of green soot.

Quickly, Harry glanced around. The lounge was still haphazard as ever, with mismatched chairs, threadbare carpet and blankets in dire need of replacing. The wooden floor were old and worn, from years of being walked over. A delectable smell wafted over from the kitchen. Good, that meant Mrs. Weasley was home at least.

Time to get her attention.

"Mrs. Weasley," he yelled. "Over here, in the fireplace!" There was a great clattering of pots and lots of strange wizarding swear words. Harry saw Mrs. Weasley (he was trying to break out of the habit of calling her that, though it wasn't going well) stomp over, clearly very grumpy. Oh, dear. He'd caught her in a strop.

"You'd think you'd learn how to knock, Harry," she chastised. Then she looked down at Harry's head, surrounded by wild green flames. "Merlin's beard! Who are you? Get out of my fireplace!" She picked up the tire tongs and brandished them like a sword. Harry cringed. He would have to move fast. There was nothing more scary than an incensed Mrs. Weasley (Molly, he reminded himself) waving fire tongs in your face.

"Mrs. Weasley, it's me!" Harry gabbled. "I think Ron's played a prank on me to change my appearance." He backed out of the call as she took a mighty swipe at his head, before returning in a ploom of ash. "Hear me out!"

"Why would I need to hear you out? You're clearly not Harry." She threateningly wiggled the fire tongs at him again. Harry didn't move this time. He was going to stand his ground. "Shoo! Get out of my fireplace before I take one of your eyes out." Harry sighed. He was going to have to go through and explain the situation in person. If there was anyone who was stubborn as an ox, it was Molly Weasley.

"Okay, give me a minute." As he left, Harry heard a loud, "And stay out!" He chuckled slightly. That was definitely Molly.

As he closed off the call and gathered another round of floo powder, doubts began to spread at the back of his mind. The theory that it was a prank was slowly beginning to fall apart. He didn't know of any type of magic that could do this. There was always the idea of a slow acting version of polyjuice. The only problem was that the last time Harry had actually seen Ron was two weeks ago. Harry still clung onto it, used it as a lifeline, though the looming possibility that something darker was going on slowly began to crawl through his body.

Harry shook this off and stepped up to the fireplace. Once again, he threw down the floo powder and very clearly stated, "The Burrow!" Roaring emerald flamed leapt up from the grate and consumed Harry, spinning him through multiple grates. Soon, he was spat out onto the hearth rug of the burrow, a jumble of awkward limbs and soon to be bruising.

Molly appeared out of the kitchen, wand now clutched in her hand. Her face was dangerous and stormy, like brooding clouds and an oncoming volcanic eruption all balled into one terrifying expression. Harry grabbed his own holly wand and pointed it at her. Well, if she wanted to play it like that…

"Just who are you, thinking you can come in here and say you're Harry?" she hissed. "You're cruel and manipulative, that's what you are. I can't even begin to think about what thoughts run through your head." Harry frowned. This was a little extreme, wasn't it? Surely, he couldn't be that different. At least, she would recognise his wand.

"I swear, it's me, Molly," Harry said. He still didn't lower his wand. "I just want to talk to Ron. Let me see him, please."

"My son isn't here, imposter! You even have his wand and his voice. What have you done to him, you bastard?" Molly was now approaching Harry with all the prowling grace of a tiger. He gulped. This wasn't going as well as he expected.

"What if I tell you something only I would know?"

"Alright, try me."

"My patronus is a stag, which was my father's animagus form. Ron, me and Hermione robbed Gringotts to get one of Voldemort's horcruxes," Harry shivered at the memory, "my godfather Sirius Black was innocent and framed by Peter Pettigrew!" Molly was looking at him with an indecipherable expression. She was beginning to lower her was, so Harry lowered his in turn.

Without even looking at him, she turned around and hollered for Ron up the stairs. Heavy footsteps sounded throughout the Burrow and soon a very flustered looking Ron Weasley, flaming hair sticking up at all angles and stubble coating his chin, burst into the lounge. Technically, it was more like an arena at the moment, with the way Molly was previously confronting him.

"Yeah?" he asked, catching sight of Harry. "Who's this?"

And in that moment, Harry knew. It wasn't Ron who had changed his appearance. It was another matter altogether. His stomach sank to the very bottom of his toes. It felt like someone was had placed a vice around his heart and was squeezing extremely hard. Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.

"He claims to be Harry, and knows information that only Harry knows. I'm not sure about him. He says that he wants to talk to you."

"Ey?" said Ron, walking towards Harry. He now towered over Harry, who had shrunk considerably. He suddenly noticed that his clothes were hanging on his limbs like he was a washing line, extremely loose and baggy. His cheeks flushed red. "How can you be Harry? Are you on something?"

"Ron, you have to listen to me," Harry gasped out. "My appearance just changed this morning. I don't know how. I thought at first that you'd pranked me, but that isn't it. You have to believe me."

"Prove it. Use your patronus."

"I'm not exactly in a state to use one right now, Ron!"

"I can wait."

"Fine." Harry raised his wand again and focused on his happiest memory. It just so happened to be when he was reunited with his friends after the Battle of Hogwarts, without the threat of Voldemort looming over their shoulders. Slowly, he let the warmth of the memory flood his body, concentrating only on the elation he felt. Softly, he said, "_Expecto Patronum._" It was barely more than a whisper.

A brilliant silver stag burst out of the end of his wand, proudly trotting around the room. Shimmering silver wisps of light trailed after it, hanging in the air. The stag returned to Harry's side. He smiled and slowly ran a comforting hand over the patronus, even though it wasn't corporeal. The feeling of the stag was so relaxing. He really should do this more often. "Is that proof enough?" he whispered.

"We need to get Hermione over," said Ron, his face drained of all colour. "Stat."

Harry snorted. Maybe things weren't so bad. They would find a way for him to return to his true appearance soon. "Agreed."

* * *

_Hello, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. This story is going quite well, if I may say so myself. Also, did you know that 'blonde' is used when describing a female and 'blond' is used when describing a male? I certainly didn't. It's actually really interesting._

_If any of you have discord, I have created a server about everything fanfiction. There aren't many people on it at the moment, and I would like to create a small community. So if you want to join, the link is below. You will have to type it in (you can't copy text on here) but you will be able to join. The link is permanent and won't ever expire. I would love it if you would join. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	3. An Address to Jubilee Road

_Before I start this story, I just wanted to say that I have permission to use the idea of the sperm bank and glamour. I got the idea from Njchrispatrick and his wonderful story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years.' I highly recommend that you go and check it out before you read this. The quality of writing is phenomenal and the story is really, really sweet. So, if there are certain similarities, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

Hermione, it seemed, was both utterly fascinated and frustrated at the same time with his conundrum. When she burst out of the fireplace, hair looking like someone had electrocuted it, she was skeptical, though didn't have a reaction on the scale of Molly, thank Merlin. When he showed her his scar, she refused to believe him, stating that it could be forged. It took Prongs to convince her of who she was. Then, she promptly decided to have a rather impressive conniption, absolutely freaking out, before falling into a fit of hysterical laughter. Harry and Ron stood off to the side, mildly confused, while Molly returned to the kitchen, deciding to leave them to their business. Eventually, she calmed down and quickly returned to to her usual analytical self, shoving Harry down onto the couch and examining him.

"I don't know how this has happened off the top of my head," muttered Hermione in frustration. Her eyebrows knitted together and her lips pursed. "Surely, there's something you've done. Think, Harry." She was right up close to him, like she was interrogating him. She didn't quite seem to grasp the concept that he didn't know anything about what had happened to him.

"We've already done this before," sighed Harry, running his hand through his newly blond (and extremely choppy) hair. "I've done everything normal. Unless there was something in one of those job applications I opened. That isn't possible, is it?" There wasn't any kind of magic that Harry had ever heard of that could do that. He wasn't exactly the smartest in the field, so there was always the possibility that Hermione knew of something he didn't. That was fairly plausible.

"Not that I know of."

No longer plausible.

"You're getting that look," laughed Ron, returning to the lounge with a large chicken sandwich. He sat down, towering over Harry. "Harry, your change into an absolute twig is good for one person I guess." He laughed. "Ow, Hermione, calm down." He dodged Hermione's swats.

"This is serious, Ronald," she berated, before turning back to Harry. "I am going to have to do some research into this. From what you've told me, it's similar to a Glamour spell." She pulled a small white bag out of her purse. A loud 'whumpf' could be heard. "Oh. There go the books."

"So you do know what it is," pushed Harry. Finally, an answer.

"I said it was similar." He deflated again. "This is something new. It's charms work that I've never seen or heard of."

"Well, that's great," muttered Harry. "So, I guess I'm stuck looking like this for the time being?" And wasn't that just _peachy?_

"It seems so." said Hermione. She was genuinely apologetic, even biting on her bottom lip. Harry didn't blame her, though. Apparently, what had happened to him was becoming more and more obscure by the minute. Great. Just great.

"Bad luck, mate. Of all the people to turn into, it's a twig."

"Again with the twig? Seriously?" Harry raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure how it would make him appear.

"It's funny," Ron defended weakly. "Anyway, what are we going to do for the time being? Hermione?"

"Just a minute." Hermione's voice was muffled. Her entire head had disappeared inside the small bag. The sight was rather amusing. "I'm looking for a book. I'm sure it's in here somewhere."

"Well, she'll be gone for an hour," said Harry, finding at least a little bit of mirth in the situation. He turned back to Ron. "Are you absolutely sure that this isn't you?"

"I can't do magic this good, mate. You know that." A sly smirk crept over his face. "Bloody Hell, Harry. You think I can do magic that even Hermione hasn't heard of. I'm flattered."

"Yeah, right."

Hermione emerged from the bag. "I've found something that may give me a lead. What I think you two should do is go to Gringotts and visit Harry's family vault. There's often records of important spells inside there."

"You think that this may be something to do with my parents?"

"It's a stretch, but we need to cover every base. We don't want to miss out on anything."

"I guess." Harry sat down, slumping. "What's happening to me?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. Moping around isn't going to do you any good, though. Come on, get moving." She paused at the calculating look Ron threw her way. Biting her lip, she said, "I did it again, didn't I?"

"Yep." Harry forced a weak chuckle, then deepened his voice. "You turn into a stone cold machine with no empathy when on the pursuit of knowledge." He coughed, throat raw. "Never doing that again."

"Okay, but really. You should go find out if there's anything at Gringotts. When was the last time you visited your vault?"

"Um…" Harry paused. He wasn't sure if he'd actually ever been into the family vault. In fact, now that he thought about it, he kind of left it alone.

"You haven't been, have you?" She narrowed accusing eyes at Harry. "Or, you're still living off your trust vault?"

"The latter, yeah."

Hermione brightened. "Well, there's always a first time for everything. Get over there now, go find something. And if you don't find anything to do with all this," she vaguely waved her hand around his body ("Thanks," Harry muttered sarcastically), "you might find some rare magical artifact, or an old family heirloom. If you do, be sure to bring it back for me."

"She does have a point," added Ron. "We should go now. It might be important that we do this as soon as possible, as well. This may become permanent."

Harry was suddenly very motivated to move. "Alrighty, then. Let's go. No time to waste." He grabbed his wand and prepared to turn on his heel. "Meet you at Gringotts." And he disappeared with a sharp crack.

* * *

"I didn't think this far ahead," hissed Harry to Ron. The goblin in front of them was scrutinising Harry with beady black eyes. "I don't look like me. They aren't going to let me in." The goblin heard him, fixing a deadly glare on Harry. If looks could kill, he would be dead as a doorknob.

"Give it a second. They will." Now Ron was cowering under the gaze of the unusually tall goblin. Their robbery of Gringotts likely didn't help their reputation among the goblin kingdom. Somehow, Harry knew he wasn't going to be in for a very good experience right now.

"Key, please?" said the goblin, lips thinning. Nervously, Harry dug around in his pocket and extracted the key, placing it on the polished, granite counter. The goblin, sharpened nails tapping a tattoo on the granite, retrieved the key and held it up.

"This is the key to the Potter trust vault." It was a statement, not a question. Harry gulped. With his new, shorter height, he only stood a foot taller than the top of the counter. It made the goblin look even more menacing than they previously did, if that was even possible.

"It is."

"You're not Harry Potter."

Harry sighed with fake regret. "Believe me, I am. I actually don't have a key for my family vault." He stopped for a second, carefully considering his next words. "Is a blood test possible?"

The goblin raised a bushy eyebrow. "Certainly," he said slowly, reminding Harry very much of Snape. "That will require you to come into one of the back offices. Follow me." The goblin hopped down from his seat and gave a frustrated gesture. They followed him out of the main hall and into the rough, back corridors of the bank. The contrast was still extremely stark every time Harry saw it. But, the goblins did as they did, and he wasn't exactly going to suggest extending the granite further into the corridors…

"Mate, you alright?" Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's face. He blinked, zoning back in and backing away from those thoughts about granite. "You zoned out."

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

"In here." The goblin pointed them to a large, elaborate door, yet another sharp contrast within the bank.

"Thank you." The goblin didn't reply, just gave him a deadly grin, pointed teeth and blackened gums showing. Harry smiled back and walked into the office.

The inside of the office was the picture of wealth. The floors were a plush grey carpet, sinking with every step they took. Elegant, tapestries hung on the polished granite walls, immensely old and in pristine condition. A large, imposing desk made of gleaming dark stone squatted at the other end, tasteful trinkets placed carefully on the surface. Behind the desk sat an ancient goblin with a fat nose and large, black eyes.

"Welcome, Mr Potter." Though the words we kind, the tone was snide and cold, a warning. Harry gulped and stepped into the office.

* * *

"Here is your vault, Mr. Potter. Just ring the bell and a cart will come back to pick you up."

"Thank you."

There was no reply, only the screeching of the cart retreating up the tracks. Well, weren't the goblins just the friendliest of people? He certainly wasn't keen to redo the process of getting a key made ever again. He was interrogated to a ridiculous degree, and the cut they gave him to get a sample of his blood was definitely more vindictive than it needed to be. They didn't even bother to heal the wound, which he knew for a fact they usually did. It was payback for robbing the bank, he knew, but still.

"Are you going to open it?" asked Ron, surprisingly eager. "I want to see what's inside. What do you think we'll see?" Ron's eyes were gleaming, not too dissimilar to Hermione when she saw a good book. Or, as in the case of today, was trying to find a way to turn Harry back to his true appearance. He most likely picked it up off her, seeing as they were in a relationship that was steadily getting more and more serious. There were talks of them moving in together.

"I don't know." And he didn't. He truly didn't. Curiosity was beginning to creep through him. Quick as he could, Harry pulled out the newly made vault key, still cold and gleaming, and put it inside the keyhole. He turned it. With a clacking noise, the door rolled sideways, into a hole in the wall. The sight that greeted him was definitely not what he was expecting.

The vault in front of him was, for lack of a better word, extremely _neat. _There were no towering piles of shimmering coins. Instead, there were neatly arranged cabinets, photos and framed newspaper clippings hanging on the dark-stained wooden walls and chests of draws slipped into the gaps. There was even a giant oak bookshelf at the back, boasting numerous books that Hermione was sure to salivate over. At least, Harry thought, their mission to find the elusive spell document wasn't going to take place in squalor. That was always a positive.

As they steps over the threshold, great clouds of dust plumed up, getting into their noses. Harry started coughing, while Ron began a series of impressively large sneezes. Eventually they stopped, standing in the middle of the vault. Ron moved over to the left of the room, while Harry took the right. The search began in earnest and in silence, only the occasional quip being exchanged, until...

"Wait." Ron paused. "What exactly are we looking for?" That made Harry stop his search. It would help if they knew exactly what they were looking for, rather than just searching for everything. He thought for a second.

"Anything to do with my change in appearance. It's most likely a document, like Hermione said." That narrowed it down. Harry wasn't sure why he hadn't narrowed it down before. His thoughts kept wandering to places they didn't need to be.

"You're being very calm about this. If I were you, I'd be freaking out."

"I'm surprised, too." It was a little strange, how he was just taking everything in his stride. Especially something as large as his appearance completely changing. They lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Harry's insides were another story altogether, a swirling storm of icy shards that threatened to prick at his protective bubbles until he broke. He pushed them away, though.

He sat down on the wooden floor and pulled open the bottom draw of a large chest of draws. No cloud of dust puffed forward this time. The draw was surprisingly deep. There was nothing in it except a small, dark box made of woods. Elaborately carved vines swirled over the surface. With deep reverence, harry opened the box. Inside, sitting deep inside a nest of crushed velvet, was a simple silver compass. The initials, '_F.P' _were engraved into the top. It had belonged to Harry's grandfather, Fleamont Potter. He carefully put the box inside the bag he'd brought. That was definitely something he was going to keep.

"Hey, I think I found something." He snapped out of his compass-driven haze.

"Really?" Harry rushed over. Ron was holding a sealed paper envelope, dated around ten months before his birth. The paper was yellow but crisp, meaning that it wasn't from the wizarding world. He snatched it out of Ron's hands and peeled it open, extremely careful not to damage anything. Harry's heart dropped when he saw what it contained.

"What is it?" asked Ron, peering over Harry's shoulder.

"I-I don't know."

The letter held nothing but a solitary address, written in clean black ink

* * *

_I tried a new style for writing in this chapter, and it worked tremendously. Who knew that doing dialogue first was so good? I've found my new writing style, that's for certain. No more slaving over word counts for me, baby!_

_My personal challenge is coming along well. I'm going to see how long I go for before I burn out. Fun! That wasn't sarcasm._

_Don't forget to join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire. You will have to type it in, which is annoying, but I really hope you join._

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely  
Mariadoria_


	4. A Shocking Discovery

_Before I start this chapter, I just wanted to say that I have permission to use the idea of the sperm bank and glamour. I got the idea from Njchrispatrick and his wonderful story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years.' I highly recommend that you go and check it out before you read this. The quality of writing is phenomenal and the story is really, really sweet. So, if there are certain similarities, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

For a few seconds, Harry just blankly stared at the address. Then:

"An address? How can it be just an address?" he fretted. "This can't be it. It must be wrong. Mum and Dad wouldn't leave this little information for me." It couldn't be what they were looking for, could it? If there was even anything here in the first place, it wouldn't be a single address printed on a yellowing, brittle piece of paper.

"Or, there is the possibility that it has nothing to do with what we're looking for," said Ron, the voice of reason for once, confirming Harry's suspicions. "Let's keep looking, yeah? We'll keep this and if we find nothing else, then we can go see what this is about." That sounded more like it.

Harry nodded. "Okay, yeah. That's a good idea. Let's keep looking." He carefully put the envelope in the bag, along with the compass.

And look they did. For at least three hours, they perused every nook and cranny, hunting for that elusive document or artifact that would yield more information than a single address. _An address! _Of all the things for them to find and hold onto, it was an address! It puzzled Harry. It was a lead, sure, but a very obscure one that likely wouldn't prove very helpful. Still, a lead was a lead, even if it didn't go anywhere. There were many other documents that they took as well, all mentioning specific details about spells or family history. Hermione was likely to know what they were when she looked over them. Apart from those documents, he found a few more personal items he wanted to keep, including a picture of James and Lily and a particularly nice fountain pen belonging to some obscure family member he'd never heard of.

In the end, their search revealed nothing more, except a strange glass orb with unnerving blue light floating inside it that Harry decided to bring back for Hermione. To say he was thoroughly dejected was an understatement. It felt like a dark, brooding cloud was hanging over his head, storming all over his thoughts, which weren't exactly positive to begin with.

"I guess this is it?" Harry stared down at the address on the paper. It was taunting him. The other documents were inside the bag, safely tucked away. There was something about the address that drew Harry toward it, so he was holding it tight in his hand. It was now extremely crumpled, to a degree where it looked like someone had screwed it up, tossed it in the rubbish and then got it out again.

"I guess so," sighed Ron. He too seemed disappointed with their search. "Let's leave." Ron turned to go. He turned around to go, but Harry didn't move. He stood in the middle of the vault, eyes closed, breathing deeply. It was a long time since he'd felt such a connection to his family. It made his reluctant to leave. Ron put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You can come back here later. We really need to go and follow these things up."

"Yeah," Harry sighed sadly, finally turning away and stepping out of the cosy vault and onto the rough stone outside. He closed the door and put the key safely in his bag.

Ron rang the bell a few times. It echoed eerily around the expansive caverns, stretching further down than eyes could see. It wasn't long before the screeching noise of the cart approaching interrupted the large silence. A different goblin from before sat at the helm. This one was a lot creepier than the other one. Once they were comfortably sat down, the cart zoomed off. The wind whipped through Harry's hair. With his glasses gone, he was forced to squint against the strong air currents.

Soon, they were standing outside of Gringotts, the sharp winter winds whipping their cheeks raw. The sky was clear and the sun shining, though there was no heat to be found. Shivering, they decided to walk up to the Leaky Cauldron and get a nice warm drink before they headed back to the burrow.

Diagon Alley was still getting its groove back after the war. Most of the stores were open and doing good business. It was the feeling that was different. Caution was now prevalent throughout the entire alley, like people were afraid that Voldemort was going to pop up from behind a bookshelf and start terrorising everyone again. It was slowly improving but the return to its former glory was going to take a long, long time. If there was one thing for certain, it was nice to see that people were happy again, not scared to go out in public.

They passed a storefront that was still boarded up, red bricks cracked and crumbling, windows smashed and graffiti all over the walls. What a project that would be. Harry smiled slightly and stopped Ron. "I'm going to reopen Florean Fortescue's, you know," he said. "I think it will be a nice change of pace. The place needs it, too." Ron shot him an incredulous look.

"Do you even know how how make ice cream?" He was laughing slightly, clearly thinking that Harry was joking. Ron had gone on to join the Auror force and was doing well in the training program. He clearly loved helping people. Harry did too, but it was time for him to do it another way. Such as: Ice cream.

"Nope. But I'll learn."

Ron patted him on the back just a little bit too hard. He was sent careening into a wooden fence where a young couple were passionately snogging. They immediately began cursing at him. Apologizing profusely, he made a beeline back to Ron.

"I'm a bit more fragile now, mate." And oh, how it annoyed him.

Ron snorted. "No kidding." They continued walking up the alley, Harry intent on ignoring the couple's death glares. "Well, opening it will be good for everyone. This place just isn't the same without it. Good on you."

"Thanks."

Ron considered something for a moment. "Are you going to bring back the goody-gum drop flavour? That always was one of the best, and no one knows where he got the recipe. Do you know the secrets now that you decided to open it?"

Harry snickered. "Goody-gum drop comes from muggle supermarkets. He went out and bought it." Ron looked utterly betrayed.

"So it isn't a fancy, super secret recipe? You're telling me I could have been eating it all this time?"

"Exactly."

Their conversation was interrupted when a woman with straggly brown hair and a ruddy, pockmarked face approached Ron. She completely. Her unusually large eyes were slightly glazed over. "Are you Ron Weasley?" She seemed very star struck.

"Yes?" he said, not quite knowing how to respond.

"Can you sign my chocolate frog card?" Without waiting for an answer, she thrust the card in his face. Suddenly looking a little star struck himself, Ron took the quill she offered and scrawled his signature over the back of it. The woman beamed. "Thank you, thank you!" She made to leave, but then turned back. "Who's this?" She gestured to Harry like he was some leftover from last night's dinner. He bristled.

"This is Ha―" He was cut off when Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

"Harper. My name is Harper," he sent a side glance at Ron. He wasn't going to have Ron bungling through a conversation and accidentally revealing their strange predicament. "Nice to meet you…" He trailed off, not knowing her name. Just because she was treating him awfully, didn't mean he needed to return the 'favour.'

"Genevieve Armand." She smiled at him condescendingly, like he wasn't good enough to be in the presence of someone like Ron. "Anyway, I better be going. Nice to meet both of you." She was only looking at Ron when she left, completely ignoring Harry. Genevieve pranced off down the alley, heading towards Gringotts, waving the chocolate card frog in the air. If she starting singing out of the blue, Harry wouldn't be surprised.

"That was strange," said Ron, blinking in a way that made him look like a particularly startled owl. He wasn't used to people approaching him all the time, that much was clear.

"You're lucky, mate," muttered Harry. "Everywhere I go I get bloody swamped. It's a relief to walk around without cameras flashing in my face."

"I guess." Then he grinned at Harry. "I still can't believe I'm on a chocolate frog card. How cool is that?"

"Very cool."

"You don't seem too excited about that."

"Yup."

They continued exchanging sarcastic, light hearted insults until they reached the Leaky Cauldron. A warm wave of air washed over them, so warm it was almost stifling. Harry went and found a table, while Ron ordered their drinks. He soon returned with a butterbeer in one hand and a firewhiskey in the other.

"What happened to warm drinks?" asked Harry, happily taking sips of butterbeer. Anything warm at the moment was a relief. His reflection was distorted in the glass. He hastily glanced away, not wanting to see those serious eyebrows or pointed chin.

"I changed my mind. Hey, are you alright?" He cast concerned eyes on Harry.

"Hmm?" He glanced up. "Yeah, yeah I'm alright."

"Okay, I'm going to tell you this now. No matter what you look like, you're still my best mate. Even if you're a twig." Harry chuckled into his drink.

"Thanks, I guess." He really wanted this conversation to end.

Sensing this, Ron said, "So how are we going to find this place?" Taking a sip of his drink, he grimaced. "I've never really been out there, so you're in charge here."

"Out there? Do you mean London?"

"Yeah."

"You're joking."

"Unfortunately not."

"Okay, so that's a snag. I think we should get these documents back to Hermione and then follow the address. Sound good?"

"Yep."

Harry downed the butterbeer in one gulp. Ron tried to do the same with his firewhiskey, but ended up spluttering and hacking from the searing drink. Harry guffawed at him, and then they both left to take the documents back to Hermione for analysis.

* * *

"There has to be something simple." said Ron. They were currently standing at the back of a shady alley (out of sight of the muggles) figuring out how to find the address from the envelope. It wasn't proving very good, at the moment. Hermione wasn't going to be any help to them for a few days. She was currently devouring the documents and artifacts they bought back for her, with that carnivorous gleam in her eye that would only be satiated when she absorbed enough knowledge to satisfy a mammoth.

"A map book." Harry said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"There are map books of London. We could buy one and locate it from there."

"Yeah, but wouldn't that take ages? London's bloody big." Harry groaned and put his head in his hands. He hadn't thought of that.

"True. And we don't have much time. This thing," he gestured to his face, "could become permanent."

"A point me spell!" Ron looked very pleased with himself.

"That can't work," Harry snorted. Then, uncertainly, "can it?"

"You won't know until you try. Give it a go!" Ron was looking a little desperate.

Harry sighed and pulled out his wand, making sure to put all of his willpower into the spell. If it was going to work, he would need all the force behind it he could muster. London was a huge area, and they had no bloody idea where the road was. "_Point Me 7 Jubilee Road." _Nothing happened for a few seconds. All of a sudden, the wand began spinning erratically, rapidly changing directions. It did this for at least three minutes, before stopping suddenly, definitely pointing somewhere. Harry laughed in disbelief. "It actually worked!"

"Well, we can't argue with that, can we?" cheered Ron, pumping his fist in the air. "Come on, let's go!"

Being extremely careful that the wand wouldn't be seen, they walked out of the alley, into the middle of London. Both were hoping that the walk wouldn't be too long, as the sky was beginning to gain that dusky glow of golden sun and pale, washed out blue. Along the way, there were a few close calls with the wand nearly being discovered, as well as a lady who complimented their cosplay, whatever that was. Both of them were thoroughly bamboozled with that one. After walking for around an hour, they finally came to a street sign that read, 'Jubilee Road.'

"Finally," groaned Ron. "I thought we'd never get here."

"You think you've got it bad?" puffed Harry. "It's not just my appearance that's changed. I can barely walk without getting puffed."

"You'll be back to normal soon. Then this will all be a story we'll laugh at."

"I'm not laughing at it now, idiot." Having caught his breath, Harry stood straight, his cheeks still flushed a brilliant scarlet. "There it is." He put his wand back in it's hip holster. "Let's go in." Side by side, they walked towards the building that stuck out like a sore thumb.

7 Jubilee Road was a modern building, a startling contrast to the quaint houses around it. Number 7 was all glass and metal and didn't exactly look welcoming. Harry didn't care about this. Inside this building were possible answers to his current...condition. Why they were in the middle of muggle London, he didn't know. For all he knew, this was a dead end. It didn't mean he wasn't going to check.

After hesitating for a second, Harry rapped smartly on the (surprisingly) wooden door, painted a bright, blazing blue. There was no doorbell to ring. Even if there was, Harry found doorbells rude and bit impersonal. Nobody answered, so he knocked again. This time, the door creaked open immediately by an ancient woman. The wrinkles on her face were so deep that a battle could be waged in them. Her hair was pure white, shooting off her head in little tufts, framing sparkling, dark eyes and a welcoming smile.

"Hello." Her voice was gentle, calming. "How can I help you?" She leaned heavily on the door, a leopard print (that's very strange, Harry thought to himself) cane clutched in the other.

"Hi," said Harry. He pulled the envelope out of his bag and showed it to her. "I found this letter in an old box in the attic. I was wondering if you would be able to tell me what this place is?" The lady brightened.

"Oh, certainly. It's strange that you don't know, but I guess there's a first time for everything. Come in and sit down. I'll fix some tea. It's just lovely to have visitors."

"Don't know what?" Harry asked. She merely smiled and ushered them inside.

She disappeared into the house. Harry and Ron followed. Inside, the house was even more strange, a mishmash of modern and what looked to be the...fifties. It was like two people of two totally different personalities had clashed when building a house and this was the chaotic result. The lounge, though, was completely the older style. It was comforting and simple. Also, the couches were comfortable, which certainly helped to ease Harry's nerves.

They sat in an awkward silence, until the old lady came out, carrying a teetering tray in one hand. The other was holding the cane. Harry jumped up and grabbed the tray off her, placing it down on the coffee table. He couldn't help but notice that she was taller than him. _Of course. _She smiled serenely at him.

"It's just lovely to see that chivalry hasn't died." She elegantly sat down in a delicate armchair. Her cane clattered to the floor. "Thank you. I'm Gladys, by the way.

"You're welcome, I guess. I'm Harry, and this is my best mate Ron," shrugged Harry. He turned serious again. "I'm sorry to press, but what do you mean, 'it's strange that you don't know,'" pressed Harry. A lump was beginning to form in his stomach, heavy and ugly. He didn't know why. "What do you mean, a first time for everything?"

She sighed. "You might want to sit down for this, sweetie." Harry did as he was told, backing into a chair and falling into it. His breath was beginning to come very quickly and black was encroaching on the edge of his vision.

"What happens here?" he said weakly. "Please, tell me.

"It's what used to happen here, actually," Gladys corrected. "I used to work here, but bought the building when the company went out of business."

"What company?" begged Harry. He needed to know, he needed to know right now what used to happen here.

"There's no light way to put this."

"Just tell me."

"This used to be a sperm bank."

* * *

Silence.

That was all that filled Harry's head. He could hear nothing, feel nothing except shock. Shock that made him numb, shock that made him feel everything that touched him. The world in front of him was white, a muffled landscape meant to cushion the words he'd just been told. But nothing could cushion those words.

Somehow, Harry could feel the air. It was getting heavier, approaching closer and closer, weighing more than the heaviest safe. It perched on his shoulders, pressed into his eyes, filled his ears with cotton buds and crushed his fingers. The white landscape in front of him was only becoming brighter and a loud ringing was bouncing and pounding in his head, playing cricket inside his skull.

Muffled voices began breaking through the barrier, and suddenly, Harry James Potter was snapped out of his haze and back into a reality that he would much rather raze to the ground than live in.

* * *

"No. That's not possible." Somehow, Harry was standing on the opposite side of the lounge, with no memory of having gone there.

Gladys gave him a sympathetic smile. It rubbed on his nerves, now. "I assure you, I know where I worked. I live in the building."

Harry's legs buckled under him. Luckily, Ron was beside him and caught his arm. "This can't be true. It can't be." Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. If they started, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to stop them.

"Are you telling me that your parents didn't tell you?" Gladys now seemed incensed, though not at Harry. Her face contorted into an ugly glare, eyebrows low and cheeks tight, which she fixed on the couch. "How could they not tell you?" She grabbed her cane and took a step closer to Harry. "How cruel would they have to be to let you find out this way?"

"My parents are dead!" Harry was yelling at this point, lashing out at anything that moved. Gladys was unfazed, though her hair did look slightly more startled than it did before. "They've been dead my entire life. How were they supposed to tell me! Give me an answer!" He slammed a fist down on the coffee table, rattling the tea still on the tray.

"Oh." Gladys pursed her lips. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY," Harry snarled. "What I need is the truth. This is a joke, isn't it? A cruel joke set up to gain revenge on me for something stupid I did years ago. That's it, isn't it?" Harry fell back onto the couch. "Oh, how stupid am I?" He leaned back, dragging his hands through his hair, not even bothering to wipe away the fat, salty tears sliding down his cheeks. "The great Harry Potter, reduced to this! THIS ISN'T REAL!"

"Calm down, dear." Gladys sat down next to Harry and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm afraid to tell you that this is, indeed real. This really isn't the best way for you to find out, but here we are. What we can do is work through this process together."

"No," he croaked out. "This can't be real. Please, tell me this isn't." He cast desperate eyes on Gladys. She moved forward and embraced him. "It can't be." She pulled out of the hug and smiled at him.

"You know, Harry, I remember the day your parents came in here." A teary eyed Harry glanced up at her.. "That's right. They were so kind and considerate, the nicest people you could ever meet. I remember James, with his flyaway hair, and Lily, with her freckles and gleaming eyes. They were so sad that they couldn't have children of they own, but still so optimistic. It's rare to see a couple so loving." Harry wiped the tears from under his eyes.

"You were there?"

"Indeed, I was. And I'm telling you this now, before you get some false notions in your head. Just because James isn't your biological father, doesn't mean he didn't love you. I didn't see them again after that day, but I knew he would be the finest of fathers. He loved you like you were his flesh and blood."

"I-I don't know what to do." Harry's voice barely came out, his throat raw and bloody from the yelling.

"It's alright. This has happened before with other people. In fact, you're handling this remarkably well." Gladys paused for a second. "If you want, I can tell you who your biological father is."

"You know?"

"It would be hard not to. Even though I wasn't there the day that they picked you, it's clear as day. You're the spitting image of him."

"Who?" Harry whispered hoarsely. "My world has already been upended. I don't what more could make it worse."

"Are you sure you want me to tell you?"

"Go ahead." Harry really didn't care at this point. What difference could one name make now?

"A certain man called Steven Rogers."

* * *

_Well, that was longer than expected. I'm not complaining, though, it was fun to write. The ending was difficult, as well. Emotions like that aren't my strong suit, so I hope I did an alright job. I also want to say a huge thank you for all the support I am receiving for this story already. It's phenomenal, so once again, thank you._

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in._

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely  
Mariadoria_


	5. Lily and James, Circa 1979

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, '__**A Happy Accident: 70 Years**__,' by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick**__. It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

In the chilly September of 1979, two hunched over figures walked down Jubilee Road. They walked hand in hand, both shivering at the uncharacteristically cold weather. The reason they were walking along the road was something that they were keeping a secret, not wanting to tell any of their family yet. It didn't help that they were in the middle of a war, with enemies who reacted extremely violently against anything that wasn't 'pure.' Every time the couple talked about it, that word was spat out with a snide derision, complete with a side plate of utter disgust.

The male shivered, rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm up. "Is this the place?" asked James Potter, turning to his wife Lily. He was, uncharacteristically, quivering with nerves. "Are you sure you want to do this?" They had talked about it so much, gone over every single option. Lily, the little firecracker that she was (and she was little, standing at just over five feet), was dead set on this option, though. James still wasn't sure.

"Yes, this is the place, and yes, I want to do this," Lily sighed. "James, we've discussed this so many times. I want to do this. I want children." Sometimes, James frustrated her so much. How difficult was it for him to understand that adoption and surrogacy were last resorts for her? It was already bad enough that they couldn't have their own children. It had always been a dream for her to carry her own children.

"There are other ways for you to do it, though. There are ways in the magical world." As progressive as he was, James still defaulted back to the magical world and the options it held for infertile males, as barbaric as some of them were. Sometimes, when they talked about the options, he folded in on himself, like he was less of a man because he couldn't have biological children. When he'd first told Lily, he looked like he was expecting her to slap him silly and then leaving in a hailstorm of insults. They were past that total shame now, but talking about it still made James a bit antsy.

"And I want to carry my own child. Don't you dare try and take that away from me." Lily rounded on James, stopping him in his tracks. "You know how much this means to me, so stick to your agreement."

"I would never―" James looked aghast at just the thought.

"Then don't." Lily's voice held a tone to finality. "We're doing this, right here and right now. We've discussed this so many times, you stupid man." Lily gently kissed James. "And I don't care that the child won't be yours biologically. You're going to be a fantastic father, I know you are. Things are going to turn out fine, and we're going to have a family when all this is over." The thought made her almost glow. James smiled fondly at her.

"O-Okay. I'm just worried. Something could go wrong. The procedures are still so new!" The muggle world still made him nervous. Well, this side of it. Clubs, bars and record stores, on the other hand, James was very familiar, often going out with Remus and Sirius. Peter was absent more often, though it was for personal reasons, which Lily and James respected.

"Look at you, doing all the fretting. Usually, it's me doing that." Lily giggled. "You're turning into a total worrywart." A sudden gust of frigid wind swirled down the street, sending them both violently shivering. "Come on, let's go in. It's chilly out here." They walked up to the door. James knocked firmly, hands snapping back into his pockets, which were like a sauna compared to outside of them.

No one came to answer the door. James was about to knock again, when he saw the sign next to it, reading, '_Please come in to the reception. _"Oh." Lily was snorting at their stupidity. She pushed the door open. A strong, almost overpowering smell of sterilised metal hit them, almost making Lily block her nose. She turned to James.

"There's no going back now," he murmured. following Lily into the building that was all glass and metal beams. It was so different to anything that he'd seen in the wizarding world. The design fascinated him, making him think of vessels that weren't of this world. He made a mental note to build something in their backyard of a similar design. Maybe it could be a playhouse for their future child. The thought made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

"You got that one right," chuckled Lily. She took his hand, squeezing comfortingly. "But think about it, James. We're going to be parents. We're going to have our own child. Just think about it."

"I already have."

As one, strong unit, they approached the large desk. It extended from one wall to another, a small part of it on hinges, to let the receptionist behind it. Behind the desk sat a small lady with wispy hair and light wrinkles lining her face. She glanced down at her book and then back up. "Hello. Lily and James Potter, I presume?" Her tone was welcoming and warm, setting the prospective parents at ease.

"Yes, that's us," answered James easily. The lady stood up, back ramrod straight, pushing her simple, rolling chair under the desk. "We…" James trailed off, not sure what to say. The lady, however, jumped right in before the conversation took a turn into the awkward territory.

"Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs. Potter." She lead them through another door, which lead to a stark white room with a few seats and tables strategically scattered about, a purposely haphazard style. "I'm Gladys Jones. Please take a seat in the waiting area." She pointed towards two seats. "Dr. Hannigan will be with you shortly. Would you like some tea? It does wonders for your nerves. You, Mr. Potter," Gladys fixed the jittering man with a pointed glance, "look like you, especially, could use some." Lily snickered. James pouted. Gladys wondered if this man was a child in an adult's body.

"That would be lovely, thanks," Lily said, before James could say something that would only embarrass him further. She pushed him down into a seat, sitting in the other, flashing Gladys a winning grin. Or, the grin that women give other women when their husband is being an utter idiot.

"I'll be right back with your tea. You two make yourself at home. There are magazines in the draws, and for your husband, a colouring book and crayons." She booked it out of the waiting area, not even bothering to see James' gaping mouth. After muttering under his breath, he turned to Lily, eyes suddenly wide. Like it had just fully dawned on him what they were doing.

"We're really doing this," said James. He held his head in his hands. "I-I...what if I'm not a good dad?"

"You're going to be a fantastic father. And yes, we're actually doing this, and I won't hear another word about it. Nothing is going to go wrong. When this is over, we're going to be starting a family. Think about it."

Far from panicking now, James gazed off into space, a dreamy look taking over his face. Lily gazed at him fondly. Despite all his doubts, he was going to be the most wonderful, loving father a child could wish for. It didn't matter that he wouldn't share its biology, even though it used to mean a lot to him. Their child was going to have the best possible life it could wish for. It would have the most fun, loving uncles and she would have to resist the temptation to spoil it rotten.

Gladys reappeared with a rattling tray of steaming tea in delicately painted china cups, snapping her out of her reverie. James leaped up and took it out of her hands, placing it on the table. She patted him on the shoulder. "It's lovely to see that chivalry isn't dead, Mr. Potter. Now, you two stay put here. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me." Again, she made to leave. Suddenly, she turned back around. "And, congratulations on this step. I know what it's like to go through it. I just wanted to tell you, everything is going to turn out alright."

"Thank you, so much," said Lily sincerely. "It really means a lot to us. Especially James here."

"You're welcome, both of you." With one last smile, Gladys left the room. They fell into a comfortable silence, Lily drinking her tea and flipping through a muggle magazine (some of the fashion was, quite simply, an abomination). James was sitting anxiously, twiddling his fingers, foot tapping. It was actually getting quite irritating to Lily.

"What do you think he's going to be like?" James asked suddenly. Lily raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm?" Lily took a sip of the steaming tea. "Who?"

"The biological father," James said. Clarity rushed through her. Immediately, she opened up her mental checklist that she created, just for an occasion such as this. Creating mental lists was one of her favourite things to do. It was so satisfying organising everything into its correct place.

"Well, he's going to be healthy, I know that much. No mental disorders or illnesses in the family. I also don't want anyone with a prison record. No addictions, prior or present." James held up a hand, stopping her spiel before it even got going.

He laughed, then said, "I mean with looks.

"Oh." Lily stopped for a second. "I think we should try and get someone who has similar features to you. Maybe someone with black hair. What do you want?

James bit his lip. "I don't know. I think I want someone who is similar to me, if we can get that." He stopped for second. "How did we forget to talk about something as important as this?" He shook his head. "This isn't a great start, is it?"

"I think it's a magnificent start. But whoever we pick is going to be healthy."

"That's something we can both agree on."

"Mr and Mrs. Potter?" Gladys had returned, a younger looking man with dark skin and scarred hands standing beside her. "This is Dr. Glenn Hannigan. He will see you now." She winked at them. "Good luck."

James and Lily leapt to their feet, their nerves suddenly returning, faster than a tsunami, and ten times more raging. Now it wasn't only James who felt like the ground was going to turn into a gaping maw any second. Lily's heart was pounding harder than the drums at a rock concert.

Dr. Hannigan stepped forward. He was dressed in casual clothes: fading jeans, a hand-knitted woolen sweater and what looked to be well worn Doc Martens. The only thing that betrayed his status as a Doctor was the badge on his chest. Despite how nervous they were, Dr, Hannigan exuded a welcoming aura, similar to Gladys. Even though he was yet to say a word, he seemed like a very nice person.

"If you will follow me through here," said Dr. Hannigan. His voice was low and resonant, the type of voice that opera singers had. "I've already picked out some potential candidates who I think will be best for you. We are a smaller company, so the options aren't as expansive as some of the larger sperm banks. Because of our smaller company, we are able of offer a far more personal experience than other sperm banks, which I think you'll appreciate."

"We don't need the walking advertisement," said Lily. "We're just happy that this technology is even available."

"You're not the only one, Mr. Potter. Here's my office." He didn't seem to mind her dismissing his proud speech. Dr. Hannigan held open the wooden door, which didn't fit the rest of the building. They walked in and sat down on comfortable seats. Lily was a bit shocked, if she was going to be honest. Whereas the rest of the building looked like a time machine to the future, Dr. Hannigan's office was a portal to the past. It was like they'd stepped straight into the fifties, decor and all. And the Dr. looked completely at home. In fact, it was now a bit strange to think of him in any environment that didn't look to be straight out of the fifties.

"Now, Mr. and Mrs. Potter―"

"James and Lily, please, Dr. Hannigan," said James. "This is quite personal, so if you don't mind, could you call us by our first names?" Lily agreed.

"If that is what you wish. But, if that's the case, I insist you call me Glenn. It's only polite. Now, Lily and James, let's get down to business." Glenn opened a draw on his impressively carved desk and drew out three files. "These are the first three I have picked out. If you don't like them, don't fret. I have more files for you to choose from. Take your time. I would worry if you didn't. This is a big decision, afterall."

"Well, let's look, shall we?" James said happily. Lily nodded and took the file on top of the pile. She opened it, not sure what she was going to see. Hopefully, something good.

Immediately, from the photo, she knew that it was a definite no. Looking over his details, she saw that he was perfectly healthy, with no disorders or illnesses whatsoever. He was the right age and a good height. There was just the feeling that something was _off_. She looked over at James and saw he looked slightly weirded out.

"Not this one, sorry," she said, handing it back to Glenn. He smirked.

"You don't need to apologise. This is completely normal. Trust me, you'll know when you find 'the one.' It's a feeling you get. And no, James, I can't explain it. Go on, take the second one."

He handed them the second file. Lily opened it and was filled with the same feeling as before, only stronger. Again, this man was totally healthy and quite handsome. He wasn't sick, had no addictions or disorders. Something was just wrong. James, on the other hand, looked quite happy with this option. It was probably the black hair and hazel eyes of the man in the photo. He did look remarkably similar to James. And yet, to Lily, it was _wrong. _

"What about this guy?" asked James. Lily's answer was instantaneous.

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't know. There's just something off. It's definitely not him." She wasn't going to hear anything else. James got the message and handed the file back to Glenn.

After reading the third file, the result was the same. No luck. Lily couldn't help but feel slightly dejected. James placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, tracing soft circles on her back. No words needed to be exchanged. They would find the right donor eventually, even if it took several meetings. Lily hoped it didn't come to that. She wanted to have their child as soon as possible. She was crossing her fingers that it would be today, but she coudn't hope for something too unrealistic.

"Are we doing something wrong?" asked James. He was wringing his hands frantically, occasionally fiddling with his golden wedding band, twisting it round and round. This particular action was a nervous habit he'd developed after they got married.

"Not at all, James," Glenn reassured. "There is nothing unusual about this."

"I guess."

Glenn gathered up the files and stood. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Sit tight, alright." He left the office, smirking at his little rhyme.

"Are we going to find him?" asked James. His mood kept fluctuating, between overjoyed and deathly worried. "If all the others go like those, then we're going to have a hard time."

"We'll find the one, I'm sure of it. There are hundreds of candidates." She was interrupted by Glenn returning to the office, three more files. She frowned. That was surprisingly quick. She expected it to take at least ten minutes. Then, her rational side kicked in and she realised that he likely already had them selected.

Dr. Hannigan returned with three more files.

"Maybe you'll have some more luck with these ones."

"Hopefully," murmured James.

Glenn handed them the first.

This time, as soon as Lily opened the first one, there was a feeling of...right. The picture was of a handsome man in military dress, with low eyebrows, blond hair and a pointed chin. His name was Steven Rogers. She glanced over at James. He was smiling slightly. They both knew that this was the one. After looking over the file's details their wishes were confirmed. Even though he looked nothing like either of them, there was something about the photo and details that was perfect for them.

"This is the one."

"Are you sure? Do you want to go home and sleep on it? This is a big decision.

Lily glanced at James. He nodded enthusiastically, eyes shining with happiness. "Absolutely."

* * *

"Prongs! Firecracker!" Sirius greeted enthusiastically, embracing the two of them tightly. Lily wriggled out of his chokehold, anxiously rubbing her slightly swollen stomach. She was past the point where it looked like she was just a bit thick around the middle. To those who were looking, it was obvious she was pregnant. Sirius was not one of those observant enough to see it, though. After they invited him over, he waltzed in and didn't say anything about it. He would be talking about it soon, though. He was the third person they were telling, after Lily's parents. She was actually a little nervous about how he would respond. James was totally relaxed.

"Don't call me that," she chastised. "You know how much it annoys me."

Sirius playfully grimaced at her. "You sound exactly like McGonagall when you say that."

"Professor McGonagall," Lily half heartedly corrected. Sirius said it at the same time as her. She frowned. "Am I really that predictable?"

"More than you know, Firecracker." He dodged her swatting at him. "Okay, I won't call you that anymore." Lily sent a satisfied smirk his way and pointed to the couch. "Sit."

"Oi, just because I can turn into a dog...oh, it's payback isn't it?"

"Hole in one, Black." She sat down herself, James flopping down next to her. He stretched his unusually long arms out around her. She leaned into the warm embrace.

"So, why am I here?"

"We have something we'd like to ask you," said James. His voice was full of feigned seriousness. Lily noticed that he was hamming it up more than they'd discussed. It was working, despite the fact that he sounded like a cheap knockoff of a James Bond villain. Sirius's face was falling slightly, the playful smirk always on his lips disappearing. "You have to keep quiet about it. We don't want this getting out."

"And if it does," continued Lily, "we won't hesitate to cut ties with you."

"Furthermore, this is a matter of utmost secrecy. So, whatever you answer, you have to keep it a total secret."

"Okay. I'm a bit worried, but carry on." Sirius looked more than a bit worried, his face having gone an ashen grey. On the outside, Lily was deathly serious. On the inside, she was cackling maniacally. For the first time, she managed to trick Sirius into believing something that wasn't true. It was such a hard feat to achieve she was considering making herself a little medal. No, a large, golden trophy, that would be proudly displayed on the mantle, where everyone could see it.

"Would you be our child's godfather?"

"WHAT!" Suddenly, Sirius was sitting next to them, scooping them into an awkward hug. "Of course! How could I ever say no? Oh, this is amazing! Do you know what gender it is? Whatever it is, they're going to be the best prankster. I'll teach it myself. The next generation of the Marauders is beginning. Ow, Lily!" He rubbed his cheek where she'd slapped him. "Come on, you didn't have to do that." James chuckled.

"You will do no such thing." Her glare was coming out in full force. It didn't affect Sirius in the slightest. "And personal space." Reluctantly, Sirius returned to his armchair.

"How long have you been pregnant? Come on, spill all the juicy details." He waggled his eyebrows, revealing exactly what he was thinking about. Lily facepalmed.

"Not the time. And we're just coming up on twenty weeks―oh, wait!" Lily placed a hand on her belly, eyes suddenly shining. "It just kicked! James! Our baby just kicked!" She grabbed James's hand and placed it next to hers. His eyes widened as the baby kicked a second time, before a grin split his face in two.

"Wow," he whispered in disbelief. "That's incredible. I'm going to be a father." A sudden bright flash interrupted their moment. Sirius was standing in front of them, holding a camera he'd pulled from somewhere. Usually, lily would have been mad, but she really didn't mind. That photo was going to become one of her most treasured possessions, she was sure.

"Sirius, get down here." He didn't move. Lily gently look his hand and guided it to her belly. It took a while, but the baby kicked again. A soft smile lit up Sirius' face, and it was then that they knew Sirius was the right choice for godfather. Or, dogfather, as Sirius would go on to insist, turning into Padfoot and winding around their legs until they happily agreed to the (frankly) ridiculous title.

And in that moment, everything was right.

* * *

A few months later, Harry James Potter was born with a shock of blond hair and crystal clear blue eyes. Both of his parents immediately fell in love with the adorable baby, who gurgled up at them and was so impossibly fragile. Sirius visited them the day after the birth, being the only one who knew about the sperm bank. Not even Remus or Peter knew. Not telling them was extremely hard, but they were in desperate times. And desperate times called for desperate measures. It wouldn't matter to them, Lily knew. But, they wouldn't know their little Harry as he truly looked for an indeterminable amount of time.

The decision they'd made a few weeks earlier was one of the toughest ones they had ever made, but a few weeks before the birth, James and Lily had decided to placed a complex glamour over Harry, which would last for the duration of the war. The prejudice was at an all time high, with Voldemort's power growing steadily with each passing day. There was already a lot of attention on them, so the last thing they wanted was more. Having a child that looked nothing like either of them would bring that.

A day before Lily performed the spell, they sent a letter off to Glenn Hannigan, containing a sincere message of their total gratitude for what he'd done for them and a picture of little Harry James Potter, before they changed his appearance. The picture was one that Lily and James would keep close to their hearts, hidden, but always there.

And so, it was with great sorrow that Lily performed the spell two days after their son was born. It was complex, long lasting spell that took all of her effort, leaving her exhausted both magically and emotionally. Both her and James had tears slipping down their cheeks as Harry's hair darkened, his skin gained a more tanned appearance and his sparkling little eyes turned into picture perfect replicas of Lily's. His body became slightly taller, similar to how James was as a baby. It hurt them immensely, but one day, they would have their baby boy back as he truly looked. Then, they would reverse the spell and tel Harry the truth about his parentage and appearance, and why they had to disguise him.

But before the war ended and they could reveal the truth, they were murdered, leaving the mystery of his true parenthood to Harry to solve, seventeen years in the future, when Lily's spell finally wore off.

* * *

_Whoo, boy, this was a long one to write. I thought a little flashback chapter would be nice, and I had a lovely time writing this out. Lily and James are simply wonderful to write. I had fun with the part where Sirius appeared too (it wasn't meant to be in there, but moseyed on in anyway, oops). Then again, where Sirius Black is concerned, he always takes over the page, leading you through fantastic, fun filled paragraphs._

_Next chapter is back to Harry, Ron and Gladys. _

_And, a massive thank you to all you wonderful people who are reading, reviewing and _

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. I am quite active on there, and am willing to answer any questions you may have about this story or any of my others. If they don't spoil the story, of course. Small hints are another story, though._

//Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	6. Glamours are Good?

Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, **'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,' by** **the wonderful Njchrispatrick.** It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them

* * *

Steven Rogers.

The name, the sound and the look, was already worming its way into Harry's head. It brought with it a potent feeling of betrayal, a bitter taste upon his tongue, a ball and chain shackled to both his ankles. It was dragging him underwater, clogging all of his thoughts with sponges that absorbed every single thought trying to combat the intrusive name. Harry didn't need to say it. He already knew that when he said the name for the first time, it would be laced with poison, a sharp, unwanted, not needed anger. Not directed at anyone in particular. His parents, they weren't in the wrong. Neither was this man, Steven Rogers. His entire life had been flipped on its head. He was allowed to feel irrational anger, dammit!

He suddenly noticed that Ron was supporting him, even though he was slouched back in the comfortable couches. No, scratch that. They used to be comfortable. Now, they were a soft nightmare. He felt like he was sinking into them, being swallowed by what he previously found to be pleasant. It felt like the furniture was mocking him for his awful, awful luck. In fact, it felt like everything was mocking him. Except for Ron and Gladys. They were fine.

And why did it have to be him? He'd just finished the war, just killed Voldemort. The freedom of the last nine months was amazing, something he'd never felt before. To simply walk around without a cloud of expectation hanging of his head was a luxury. Living a normal life, with no surprises and normal worries, like bills and whether the pie in the oven was going to set the kitchen on fire. Just the thought of living his life as he wanted, no expectations of manipulations, made him feel like he was on cloud nine. That was before life threw this curveball at him, which left his feeling sick and barely aware of the world around him.

There were muffled voices around him. Harry couldn't be bothered identifying them. All he wanted right now was to break into the Ministry of Magic and find one of their new and improved time turners. He would only go back a few days. No. Screw that. He would go to a time where no one knew who he was, where he could live until he was an old man. The thought was becoming more and more attractive the more he looked at it.

And then a rush of anxiety hit him, consuming everything he was. He began quivering slightly, his eyes darting wildly around the room. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, making his fingers lose colour and his teeth tingle.

"I-I'm sorry, I th-think have to go," stammered Harry. His legs were shaky. His throat was dry. His ears were buzzing. "I can't stay here. I'm sorry, but I need to go."

* * *

Ron was extremely worried for Harry. He'd never seen his best friend in such a state, not even when he thought Voldemort was possessing him.

Gladys smiled at Harry through her wrinkles."Of course. Before you go, let me grab you something." She stood and left the room. Harry didn't even notice. Ron was doing the noticing for him now. It worried him that Harry had basically turned incoherent in the matter of a minute, but everyone was allowed their moments of panic. Soon, Gladys returned, holding a thin, beige file. She gave it Ron, who gently took it, tucking it into Harry's bag. "This file contains the information about all the times Lily and James came in here. I thought you might like it. I got it out when I made you tea."

"Thanks, I guess," said Ron. Harry didn't reply, his eyes glazing over. It looked like traumatic memories were playing over and over in his head. It made Ron feel useless. He didn't know how to deal with these things, and here Harry was, in the midst of what appeared to be a breakdown. What was he doing? Sitting down, with an arm around Harry, rather than doing something useful. He felt like he wasn't even trying.

"Also, Before you go, though, take this." Gladys took a piece of paper and wrote her phone number on it in elegant script. Ron shoved it into his pocket. He, for one, didn't ever want to see it again. "I am always happy to talk to you. You're welcome to come back any time." Gladys, with her kindly nature and calming voice, was beginning to grate on his nerves. All he wanted was to get Harry out of here, to a place where he felt safe.

"I think it's going to be a long while before that happens, somehow," said Ron.

"I totally understand. Bye, dears." Gladys waved at them, a sad smile on her face. Ron couldn't hate her, though. She'd told them the truth, just as Harry demanded. She couldn't have known how it would affect them, especially Harry.

"Bye." Ron said halfheartedly.

They left the building quickly. Outside, the air was frigid, the sky losing the last parts of light to the night. Harry was staggering along, eyes blank and arms hanging limply, seeing but not seeing. Ron was supporting him. When he tried to talk to Harry, he got no response. That wasn't surprising. So, Ron gently took Harry's wrist and disapparated into the lounge of the Burrow. Hopefully, Harry would feel more comfortable there.

Hermione was deep in a pile of documents, several recording sheet set to write down whatever she said levitating in the air around her. She heard them come in, but didn't look up from her work. As per normal, Ron thought. She did speak, though. Ron listened to her, while sitting Harry down on the cushy, patched couch.

"Oh good, you're back. I've found several clues that point towards a complex glamour being placed on him. I'm working on a way to reverse it, so Harry can go back to his real appearance. These documents are fascinating. I've come up with a few theories, and think that this could be a form of extremely well planned and executed revenge for something. What do you think, Harry?" He didn't reply, just stared emptily at the lounge. Hermione turned around. "Hello, Harry?" She got up and walked over to him.

"Hermione―" Ron began, but she wasn't listening to him.

"Earth to Harry Potter." She waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you alright in there?"

"'Mione," began Ron. Hermione whirled around, glaring. Ron cringed. This really was the last thing he needed right now.

"Don't call me that. You know I hate it."

"Now is not the time, Hermione!" shouted Ron. "We've just found out something that has made Harry have a bloody breakdown. So, forgive me, if I don't care about you hating a nickname right now!

"And what, pray tell, has caused Harry to go like this?"

"It isn't for me to tell."

Harry suddenly spoke up, his voice croaking. "Please, Ron. You do it." Relief flooded him. Harry was speaking, and aware of what was going on around them. That was a step in the right direction, from the little he knew about break downs and possible panic attacks.

"You sure?"

"I can't speak those words." Harry seemed broken. "Please, Ron. I-I can't." He put his head in his hands, shaking slightly. "How am I supposed to say it? My entire life has been changed!" His voice raised to a hysterical wail. Hermione now looked extremely worried, her eyebrows knitting together.

"What did you find out?"

Ron dug around in his bag and took out the file that Gladys gave him. He handed it to Hermione. "What we found out is…hard to explain." She opened the file. Her face immediately fell. "James isn't Harry's biological father. It's this guy called Steve Rogers."

"What?" said Hermione. She collapsed into a chair. "This...this is more than I ever thought could happen. How could this...I don't know how to help."

"I don't either."

"Talk with me, rather than about me, for one," said Harry. "I can hear what you're saying, you know." He chuckled weakly. Hermione and Ron immediately rushed to his side, squishing onto the couch alongside him.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"How were you ever going to? It wasn't possible for you to know."

"I should have figured it out, then we wouldn't be here. Oh, I've been so stupid!"

"Alright, just stop talking, both of you." Ron put his arm around Harry, stopping Hermione in her tracks. She did the same. It was a comforting embrace for Harry, who leaned into it, closing his eyes. Tears leaked out from under them, clumping his eyelashes together. "We're going to take this step by step, alright? We'll cross bridges when we reach them. Whatever fate throws at us, we'll be ready. Got it?"

"Yep," was the teary response from Hermione. Harry remained silent. No more words were said. For a few hours, they just sat there on the couch in each other's arms, taking comfort in the other's presence. It was exactly what Harry needed and began the long road to coming to terms with the truth of his heritage.

* * *

For a few days, Harry stayed at the Burrow. They didn't do much, just mundane, normal activities, like exploding snap and a small game of catch on broomsticks. It did wonders for him, just spending time with his two closest friends. To other people, the activities might be pointless. To Harry, though, they were worth more than all the gold in the world Eventually, he returned home after three days, reassuring Ron and Hermione he could do well on his own. Shemia was waiting for him, all claws and hissing. He hissed back at her.

For an unknown reason, he went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His true face stared back at him. Looking a bit closer, he saw that his hair has a slight ginger tinge when under the light. His eyes were still a bright, clear blue. That was what he missed most about his old appearance, his eyes. Slowly, though, the names Steve Rogers wasn't like bile in his throat. It still left a bitter aftertaste, but it wasn't as bad as it used to be. It didn't mean he wanted to keep this appearance. Quite the contrary. He'd decided that the sooner he was back to his old (fake, he kept telling himself, but he quashed the thoughts whenever they cropped up) appearance, the better.

He decided to take a trip to Hermione's flat (notifying her via patronus) and start searching through her library for a possible way to put a glamour back up. He really didn't want to see this face for any longer than he needed to. It wasn't that it wasn't handsome. Quite the opposite. It's just that it wasn't his. And this bothered him. It really, really bothered him.

When he arrived, Hermione was waiting.

"Hello."

"Hey."

"Why the short notice?"

"Glamour." That was the only word he needed. She sprung into action.

"Okay. I've actually prepared for this. I'll go get the documents from the vault. In the second draw in that chest," she vaguely waved to one of the many chests of draws in the room, "is a compilation of different types of glamours. I've ranked them in the order I think you'll like to use them." Harry blinked. She smiled. "I'm always prepared. It was easy to categorise them, anyway. I already knew the different types really well, from when we were on the run. What did you think I was doing when I left for a few hours?"

"Making tea? Feeding a cat?"

"No to the first, but I did feed your cat. She has quite the set of claws on her." Hermione rubbed her arm, probably where Shemia had clawed her. Harry chuckled. If that wasn't his little hellion, he didn't know what was.

"Don't I know it."

"Why did you adopt her?"

"Well, why did you adopt Crookshanks?"

"Touche, Potter." She smirked at him. If there was one thing Harry appreciated about her right now, it was the way she was treating him normally, not taking pity on him. "I'll be right back." She disappeared into another room. One funny thing about her flat was how over half of it was library and study space.

Harry took out the file. It was huge, with everything categorized neatly. Hermione was a madwoman. He sat down and cracked it open. The options he was presented with were overwhelming.

Hermione returned, arms overflowing with parchment. She neatly placed it on the desk. "Okay, so these are the basics. Before you decide what long term one to use, just do a normal, temporary one. You know how to do those. For long term use, I think the best one to go with would be one you can control at will, but will stay on until you make it go away. That means if you choose to change back to what you look like now, you can do it at will. The only drawback is that it takes a fair amount of energy to keep up. You don't notice it, though, as it's taken over however long you wear it. It's when you take it off that you notice it."

"Okay, what are the other options. There are only names and weird symbols here. I don't understand it, sorry." Harry cringed at Hermione's glare. She snatched the file off him.

"The extreme version is a permanent one, that you will never be able to reverse once you put it on. It involves heavy spellwork, three people to complete and potion that has to be brewed over a year long period. To prepare for it will take months. Gathering the ingredients for the potion, many of which are incredibly rare, will take the longest. I'm not even sure if some of them exist anymore. They certainly aren't in the Hogwarts potions cupboard, or the Professor's store, that's for sure." She stopped her tangent, looking expectantly at Harry. He gave her a thumbs up.

"Alright. Let's look at the others." Harry paused for a second. "Wait, how to do know they aren't in the Professor's store?"

"I never said such a thing."

"You did." Harry's eyes widened. "You've been snooping, haven't you?"

"Never."

"You're lying!"

Soon, the talk of glamours was forgotten as they began a playful argument, which devolved into a pillow fight.

Hermione won. Harry sulked. Then they continued their talk, going further into details. But, deep down, Harry knew what glamour he was going to pick. He'd always known, right from the beginning.

* * *

Nervously, Harry entered the muggle library. After being given a crash course in computers by Hermione, he was ready to begin the task he'd be delaying for two weeks. Reluctantly, he sat down in front of a monitor, opened a browser and tapped in the name that constantly lingered at the edge of his mind in every waking moment.

'Steve Rogers.'

* * *

Sorry for the slightly longer wait. School was a doozy today and I had to do all of this at home, while my parents were watching tv very loud. It wasn't meant to be super long in the beginning, anyway. If you want me to go back and add more description, I am more than happy too.

If you want to, you can join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in.

/Kb9zJgV

Sincerely,  
Mariadoria


	7. The Annoyance of Genevieve Armand

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them_

* * *

On the day Harry Potter researched Steve Rogers in the muggle library, without a glamour on (he still didn't know why he hadn't performed it, and it wasn't like he could perform it now), he found out several things. His biological father was an absolute unit of a war hero. They were similar in one aspect of the two. Except, the kicker was that Steve Rogers was from the forties, being born in 1918 and presumed dead in 1945. How Harry was born in 1980, thirty-five years after was another mystery he didn't want to delve into.

As much as he was loathe to admit it, there were more similarities between the two of them. Mainly, their habit of rushing headfirst into situations without much of a plan. There was also the hatred of bullies. There were many more, but Harry wasn't exactly about to think about them. Just the two main similarities were enough.

Interestingly enough, there were photos of the man looking like Harry did now. Small, frail, with a head that looked too large for his body. It was then that Harry found out about the Super Soldier Serum. He didn't go further into it, though, instead shutting down the computer and tucking his chair under the table. It was time for him to leave. Just staring at the pages and pages of information was making him feel uncomfortable.

He walked past a stack of books and heard a sharp gasp. A small boy, with kinky black hair and dark skin, peered out from behind a bookshelf. Harry stopped in his tracks. The boy was clutching a well read book, covered in red white and blue. It was all he could do to stop himself from groaning. Those were the colours of Steve Rogers, the aggressively American man.

"Excuse me." The boy's voice was soft. "Did you know that you look just like Captain America before he used the serum?" Harry tried not to walk away. This really wasn't what he needed, not right now. What he needed was to leave and spend some time at home, not looking in any mirrors and having the glamour up as much as it was humanly possible.

"Yes, I am." The boy looked up at him with awe filled eyes.

"Could...could I take a photo with you?" His voice was quiet, shy. As soon as he asked the question, he cast his eyes down to the floor, like he was expecting Harry to say no. Usually, he would. But, the boy was just so cute, maybe he would say yes, just this once, even though photos with people he didn't know were something he usually loathed.

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Gabriel. My names Gabriel, and I'm eight years old." A genuine smile was spreading over his face, his eyes sparkling. "I'll be right back." Gabriel dashed off and soon returned, dragging who Harry presumed was his caregiver (given the fact she looked nothing like him, with wavy black hair and pale skin) by her wrist.

"I'm sorry about him," she immediately said. "He gets a bit hyperactive sometimes."

"It's no problem at all," Harry found himself saying. "I'm happy to have a photo with him. Do you have a camera?"

"Mummy always has one. She likes taking photos." Gabriel dissolved into a fit of giggles and snorts.

"Well, then, let's take this photo."

Ten minutes later, after a lot of talking with Gabriel, who he was quite fond of, Harry left, feeling slightly lighter. The little boy was like a ray of sunshine. He put a smile on Harry's face, making him feel not quite so resentful about his new appearance. He disapparated home and was greeted by a yowling Shemia, who he just smiled at.

Perhaps things weren't going to be too bad now.

* * *

A week later, Harry still hadn't decided what type of glamour he was going to use in the long run. He was leaning towards the one he could do at will, but the idea of never having to look at his 'true' face was very attractive right now. The thing is, through all of this deliberation, Harry had been sitting at home, avoiding the mirror at all costs and putting t-shirts over reflective surfaces just in case the more basic glamour he was wearing wore off. When Harry sat at home for more than two days, with nothing to do, no books left to read and no movies left to watch (they were something he would always love, despite Ron's utter confusion) he started doing strange things. He performed odd spells, fed Shemia too much and aimlessly walked around. He even found himself bopping along to Whitney Houston's song, 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody,' using a hairbrush as a microphone. He would never admit to it, but he actually kind of liked the song. Eventually, the boredom became too much to bear.

So, he decided to go down to Diagon Alley and just do some mundane shopping. Maybe buy a new broom. Wait! He could check out Florean Fortescue's and see who was currently in charge of it. Surely, they would jump at a chance to sell it, seeing as it was just sitting there. And, Harry slyly thought, they weren't likely to say no to him. For once, his much hated fame would be good for something.

Mind made up, Harry disapparated, landing in a heap on the ice-cream parlour's rotting deck. He leaped to his feet, cursing his inability to use any form of magical transportation. Several people on the street jumped, looking his way. When they saw who it was, their faces lit up. Harry cursed and put a very quick 'Notice-Me-Not' charm over himself. After standing very still, not even daring to breathe, they dispersed, muttering about hallucinations and seeing Harry Potter. He was lucky that they weren't super intent on looking for him, otherwise the charm would have been more useless than one of Hagrid's flobberworms. The relief of not having to deal with 'fans' at the moment couldn't be put into words. Calling people his 'fans' always left him with a sour taste on his tongue.

He crept up to the front of the building. He was about to touch the boarded up windows, when someone behind him spoke.

"Harry Potter."

He yelped and jumped a mile into the air, before spinning around. He immediately spotted the woman who spoke, who looked vaguely familiar. She was delicately perched on one of the ruined seats, underneath a tattered, faded umbrella. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, greasy strands falling in front of her face. She'd seen through the Notice-Me-Not. Crap. At least the others on the street wouldn't.

"What?" He didn't have time to be very polite. He was sick of being polite. With his privacy constantly being invaded, it didn't leave much room to be sympathetic towards people who 'just wanted one interview for my paper.' They weren't even the worst of it. The pushy parents who seemed, for some reason, to think they were entitled to his time drove him nutty. Sometimes, he was tempted to just disapparate away and leave them hanging.

"Have you heard?" Her voice was familiar, niggling just at the back of his mind. He knew he'd seen her somewhere before.

"Heard what?" he asked, then stopped. "You know what, I don't have time for this. Just leave me alone, please." Harry was surprised he'd even said please. She didn't budge. "Come on, shoo!" She didn't budge, only tapped her cracked, chipped fingernails on the faded table. The extremely irritating noise made Harry grit his teeth to stop from snapping a sharp reply at her. That was the last thing he needed right now. Just because he wasn't generally polite, didn't mean he had to go psycho on people.

"I'm not leaving until you answer my questions." She stood and walked over to him, casually leaning against the crumbling red bricks. She was far too close for comfort. Harry's personal space bubble had been invaded twice over now. Honestly, all he wanted to look at was a prospective business opportunity. At least if he was running the ice-cream parlour, he would have the excuse of work to encourage people not to interview him. Then again, he didn't expect that to stop them. He couldn't go anywhere without being swamped with reporters and wellwishers. You'd think nine months after the war… Harry stopped that train of thought the second it cropped up. He didn't like thinking about the war. He liked speaking about it any less. The memories that bubbled up to the surface were traumatic and not something he ever wanted to relive again.

"I said, I'm not leaving until you answer my questions, Harry." Her nasally voice jerked him back to reality and the incredibly annoying conversation he was trying to avoid.

"Don't call me Harry. To you, it's Mr. Potter." She gave him a simpering smile, clearly not going to respect what he just said. "And if you're not going to leave 'till I answer you, you're going to be here a bloody long time, aren't you?" He didn't look at her, keeping on inspecting the boarded up doors. He was looking for anything that would lead him to who had the rights to the building.

"I don't think so. See, I have a trump card that I can play." She maliciously grinned. In that moment, she reminded Harry a great deal of Rita Skeeter. His face paled. This really was the last thing he wanted right now.

"And what may that be?" Harry hissed. He really was getting pissed off now.

"If you don't answer my question, I will tell everyone you're here. Bet you won't like that, hmmm?"

"It's nothing I haven't experienced before."

"Trust me, you won't like it this time. "

Harry snapped upwards, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. He was sick of this woman. "Who are you, lady? What gives you the right to hang around me, like I'm some rare commodity?" She only perked up at his rage. Harry could already see the cogs ticking over in her head, like she had just realised something, or was mentally listing something down. "Get out of here!"

"Well, let me introduce myself, first. My name in Genevieve Armand, junior reporter for the Daily Prophet." Harry's face paled again. "And, as for the 'hanging around you' thing, I'm a reporter. It's what I do. In fact, it's what I was taught to do. So, no, I'm not going to get out of here." Now Harry knew where he had seen her. It was a few weeks ago, the day his appearance had changed. Did her approaching him have something to do with that? Probably not, but he wasn't going to rule it out. You could never be too cautious with reporters. If you let them in for too long, they became annoying bad smells that were impossible to get rid of.

"Well, I'm not going to speak. It's going to be a fantastic article, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes. It will be great for people to realise that their saviour," she spat the word, "is such a jerk. Now, answer my question, or I will tell them you're here."

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The glasses that sat there were actually fakes that he had made, as he no longer needed them. It was more an attempt to try and return to normality. Well, what was normal for him. If he took them off, articles would be run, theorising about why he no longer needed them. It drove him loopy. After the War, he thought that the slanderous articles would stop, that the gossip would be stemmed, that the crazy theories about his 'secret love life' would be pulled out at the root. But that wasn't the case. If anything, the articles had just become worse, peering into his life, invading his every moment of privacy. He was lucky that the reporters didn't venture out into the muggle London, where he lived, close to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. That would just be even worse.

"Fine, I'll do it. What is your question?" Maybe, if he just gave her what she wanted, she would finally leave him alone. Her face lit up, though not in a good way. If her teeth had been pointed, she would have been scarily similar to a great white shark. It sent shivers up Harry's spine. The better this conversation was over, the better.

"What are your thoughts on Ron Weasley's new friend?"

"Huh?"

"His new friend, Harper. Tiny blond guy, sickly looking, large nose. Weirdly serious looking. What are your thoughts on this new development?" She grinned at him, like she'd just revealed a big, trust shattering secret. Harry inwardly cursed and fumbled for an excuse. He decided to be indifferent to the situation. That could work.

"I really don't care. He's allowed to make new friends. We're still close." Inside, Harry was cursing. Of course Armand's question had to be about that. The one thing he was trying to avoid right now.

"So, you don't care about who Ron," as she said the name, her tone became dreamy, "associates with?"

"Who am I to dictate who he spends―wait, why am I answering you?" He shook his head, taking a step back. He'd answered her question. That was all she wanted. Now, it was time for him to leave. A visit to the broom store sounded nice, just to ogle the latest version, despite the fact he had a ridiculously fast one at home, his only splurge in a long time.

"Because you want to, don't you, Harry?" Armand's voice was sickly sweet. In that moment, she reminded Harry of a cross between Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge, which was the worst possible thing he could think of, save Voldemort returning. An overpowering urge to escape came over him. But the need to put Armand in her place was stronger.

"Don't call me that," he snarled. "You have no right to…" He stopped talking as the telltale prickling of the normal glamour wearing off started at the tip of his fingers. In less than a minute, he would be looking like 'Harper,' which wasn't what he needed right now. Armand would have a field day with it, he knew. "You know what, I'm leaving."

"No, we haven't finished talking."

"Too bad." Just as the prickling reached his neck, Harry pulled out his wand and turned on his heel, disappearing with a loud crack. Armand was left gaping.

When Harry fell onto his apartment floor (he'd appeared three feet in the air, most likely due to his panic), he could already feel his appearance was changed back. He cursed (words that would make Molly turn beet red) and returned the glamour. Just the sight of blond hair falling in front of his eyes was enough to make him mad. He was avoiding the problem, he knew. This was fine, though. He would be fine. Better to bury the problem deep down and never face it again.

It was right then that Harry decided he knew what type of glamour he wanted. He would visit Hermione tomorrow and they would start preparing.

* * *

The next morning, Harry appeared in Hermione's flat without warning. He had notified her he was coming via the floo, which he hated, only making him realise that an owl was far more efficient and far better at not making him feel sick. So, she knew he was coming, just not when he was going to come. Judging by the sound of smashed crockery coming from the kitchen, he'd given her quite the fright. There was a clink of something being repaired, then Hermione called out, "Just a minute, idiot!"

Before she arrived, he noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet lying on the couch. It was opened to a page around halfway. He spied the name '_Genevieve Armand'_ under the title, which read, '_Harry Potter: Losing Bond With Friends?' _He sat down on the couch and picked it up, beginning to read. He was very amused at what he was going to find.

'_Yesterday, dear readers, I was sitting outside what used to be Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, when I noticed Harry Potter approaching. He was using a '_Notice-Me-Not' _charm, but, with my sharp eyesight, I was able to see through it. Now, this was the perfect opportunity for me to ask him some questions about something I'd witnessed a few days prior._

_See, I was minding my own business, walking down Diagon Alley, when I spied Ron Weasley, talking with someone unfamiliar. As you will know, I am quite smitten with the hero, believing that he did far more for us than he is credited for. I also believe that Harry Potter took a lot of the credit for himself, drawing attention away from others and onto himself. I walked up to Mr. Weasley, totally starstruck, and asked him to sign one of his own chocolate frog cards. He was extremely kind and willing to talk to me. The small, sickly looking man beside him was not the same, I can tell you now._

_He seemed on edge, his eyes darting around. When I talked to him, I found out that his name was Harper, no last name given. Remarkably similar to the name, Harry, don't you think? This Harper was tetchy and dragged Ron Weasley off before he could talk to me further. I personally thought he was being a bit possessive of Mr. Weasley. He could have been trying to draw attention back to himself, seeing as his competition for friends is none other than Harry Potter. I decided that I needed to get to the bottom of this mystery._

_When I asked him about it, he was ridiculously reluctant to answer my question. It took a lot of haggling and negotiating on my part, involving some empty threats ( you know I would never harm anyone on purpose, my dear readers), before he answered me. Even then, he was short and sharp, disapparating away before I could get more out of him. But what I didn't get out of him was fascinating. _

_He didn't know _seem _to know a thing about Harper. Indifference filled his face when I asked him, which looked to be a well practiced mask. He replied that Ron was able to choose his friends, though his face seemed to say otherwise. And, as my dear mentor Rita Skeeter taught me, there is always something someone is hiding, always a story to sniff out. Unfortunately, as I said above, he disapparated before I could get more information out of him. _

_I think that there is more to find out here, my dear readers. Perhaps a story of betrayal and denial? Only I, Genevieve Armand, will be able to find out. Be sure to keep an intrepid eye on this esteemed publication to find out._

_Love you all,  
Genevieve._

Harry snorted. The entire article was completely ludicrous. There was a reason it was only printed halfway through the paper. Everything about it was fake. At least to him. And to hear Rita Skeeter was her mentor? That really wasn't surprising.

"Harry James Potter, what have I told you about appearing with no warning? The least you could do is knock!" Harry jumped, closing the newspaper. Hermione appeared in the lounge, hands on hips. Her hair was up in a bun on top of her head, wand jammed through it, sleeves rolled up and sweat dripping down her face. Clearly, she was in the middle of something that was causing her a great deal of grief. A strand of hair fell over her face and she irritably blew it away. "Oh, you found the article."

"Yes. It's very amusing."

"I think it's a steaming pile of fabricated vitriol."

"Well, that's certainly something,"Harry chuckled. He surged forward and gave her an energetic hug. She squeaked slightly, before melting into the embrace. "I've decided what type of glamour to use." Hermione pulled back, eyes wide.

"Already?"

"Yes."

"I thought it would take you at least three weeks. It's only been one." She seemed slightly anxious, shifting from foot and foot, wringing her hands. Like there was something she wanted to tell him but wasn't. It puzzled Harry.

"Yeah, but I know what one I want."

"And which is it?"

"The permanent one, with the potion." Hermione's face fell.

"Ah."

"Ah, what?" asked Harry.

"I've been doing some...experimenting. Through that, I've found out that the spell...doesn't work."

"What?" Harry felt the blood draining from his face. "No, that can't be true. Is there another variation? Maybe you were just saying it wrong. You have to be saying it wrong."

"Harry, I wasn't saying it wrong. The information I have is wrong, and there is nothing on it anywhere else. I'm actually beginning to believe that the entire spell is an elaborate hoax. The more I think about, it the more plausible it seems. Now that I'm looking, there doesn't seem to be any records of it ever being performed. There are so many things that are just...off about it."

"Please tell me this isn't true. Are you pranking me? Did Ron put you up to this?" Harry fell down onto Hermione's couch, knowing deep down that what she was saying was true. She wasn't the type of person to lie about something that was so important to him. Ron wasn't either. The theory of his friends lying to him was Just when he thought a stroke of good luck was coming his way. He should have expecting this, he really should have.

"It's true, I'm sorry."

"Right. Let's do the other one, shall we? What's the spell?" Harry leaped up, suddenly invigorated. He wasn't sure why he was changing moods so fast, but he wasn't going to complain. Anything to get away from that gloom that threatened to float into his mind.

Hermione blinked. "That was...fast. Are you quite alright?" She looked very uncertain.

"Why dwell on the unfortunate? We've got a glamour to do. Come on, let's do it!" He grabbed his wand and held it in his hand. "Remind me what the spell is again? I've forgotten."

He hadn't. It was the pronunciation he was unsure on.

"Okay. The spell is, '_Tunc Spectat Imperium.'" _Harry opened his mouth to perform the spell, but Hermione snatched his wand away from him before he could start speaking. "There are a few things I need to tell you about it." She pointed at the couch. Harry reluctantly sat down. "Okay, the first. You will need to take it off every few days, for at least an hour. If you don't, then the drain on your magic will be severe when you take it off. It could make you faint, or worse." Harry's foot began tapping impatiently. "The second is that it isn't compatible with a few of forms of magical transport, mainly Portkeys. You should take it off before you use them, otherwise it will be very painful."

"It that all?"

"Not yet. Be patient. The world isn't going to end. To apply the glamour, you say the incantation and imagine what you want to look like, very clearly. To take it off, just say the incantation. Try to be sitting down when you take it off, to avoid your knees buckling. And, never combine it with other glamours, lest it fails and becomes permanent. That means you'll have to take the one you're wearing off." Harry grimaced. Of course he would have to. "Now, let me show you what happens when you take it off."

"Wait, what do you mean? How can you do that?

"I've been using this spell for the last few days, to test out how it works. Look a bit closer." Hermione gave him that look, when she thought he was being a bit daft. Ignoring it, Harry squinted his eyes. He didn't notice anything at first. Then, it his him like a slap to the face. There were several subtle differences on her face. A light smattering of freckles spread across her cheeks, there were small green flecks in her eyes and dark blonde strands of hair interweaved with her usual brown.

"How was it?"

"Fine. You don't even notice it when it's on. I'll take it off now, just so you can see what happens. Mind, the effects will be less extreme than yours, seeing as you're changing your entire appearance." She sat down and raised her wand. "_Tunc Spectat Imperium._" A soft golden light emanated from her wand, and the changes she'd made to her appearance slowly faded away. She sagged slightly, definitely looking far more tired. "Wow. That's more draining than I expected. Maybe you should take it off every other day, instead." She shifted. "That's going to take a while to recover from. Wow."

"Alright, my go." Hermione, though her eyelids were drooping, handed him back his wand, handle first. He quickly vanished the temporary glamour and took the fake glasses off his face.

"Remember, you need to clearly picture what you want to look like. If you don't, it could go quite wrong. You don't want that."

"It's easy enough for you to say."

"Just breathe, stay calm."

"I know. Could you be quiet for a while, please."

"Of course."

Harry closed his eyes and pictured what he considered to be his true appearance. Gravity defying black hair, blazing green eyes, more lean muscle than human stick figure. Taking a deep breath, Harry opened his mouth and spoke:

"_Tunc Spectat Imperium._"

* * *

Three months later, in the warm May of 1999, Harry Potter reopened Florean Fortescue's. Of course, being considered prime news, it made all the headlines of every newspaper, magazine and gossip rag. The opening day was a smash, selling out within an hour. Harry considered himself lucky he had backup ice cream out the back. The last few months had been totally hectic, but he loved it. He relished being busy. It kept his mind of certain topics that he didn't want to think about.

And the glamour was working perfectly. In the beginning, he took it off every few days, just as Hermione instructed. Eventually, though, he just...stopped. It had been up for at least a month, and Harry couldn't be happier. He could look in the mirror without seeing what was underneath. He didn't need to put towels over the toaster or keep the curtains drawn, to keep from seeing his reflection. It was a freeing experience.

Something strange had happened, though. In his spare time, Harry found himself researching more and more about Steve Rogers, going out into the muggle world far more often than he used to. Despite the fact that he hated the way he truly looked, he could never know enough about Steve Rogers, 'Captain America.' He read all the books that were available and sucked dry every resource. He would never admit it, but it was becoming an unhealthy obsession. None of his friends knew about it. Or of his plans to travel to America for a few weeks, to get even more information. He was going to take the trip in mid-June, leaving the running of the shop to one of his wonderful employees, Romulus Armeen.

So, mid June came and Harry packed up his bags, abruptly telling Ron and Hermione that he was leaving for a few weeks. They said their goodbyes, Ron and Hermione holding hands as he left. Later that day, he went to the Ministry of Magic to pick up the Portkey he had ordered (a shockingly pink hairbrush), taking it to his home and waiting the last half hour for it to activate. It was going to take him to a place in New York, where he would be spending two weeks. After that, he was going to catch a plane to Washington D.C and investigate the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.

The hairbrush in front of him began to glow. Harry took a deep breath and put his shrunk luggage, spelled to be feather light, in his pocket. In under a minute, he would be in New York. He touched it, and felt a strong pull at his naval.

The pain came immediately. It felt like someone was pricking his skin with a thousand sewing pins. He screamed out, but was unable to move, due to the Portkey. He suddenly remembered Hermione saying that the particular type of glamour he was using didn't work well with portkeys.

Suddenly, he landed in a heap on the floor. He felt the glamour disappear, along with the pain. He panted hard, falling onto the ground. The exhaustion he knew he would experience soon overtook his body, leaving him shaking. Of course, he had to forget that particular piece of information. Every fibre of his being was cursing his stubbornness about taking the glamour off.

"What kind of freak shit is this?"

Harry glanced up and saw a rough looking man with a wild beard looking down at him. His eyes were wild and mad, hands dirty. A strange, deranged grin covered his next thing Harry felt was a kick to the gut, which sent him flying into a wall. He fell to the ground and crawled to his feet, reaching for his wand through the haze of exhaustion clouding his mind. To his horror, the kick into the wall had smashed it completely in two, and the man was approaching him again, looking like all he wanted was to beat Harry into a bloody pulp.

Well, wasn't this just fan-bloody-tastic?

* * *

_Hello. Bit of a longer chapter, to make up for the lack of update yesterday. I was so busy that I just didn't have time to write. After this, I think the average chapter length is going to be around 3000 words, if that's alright? Anyway, something actually happen in this chapter! Harry is in America, so that's progress. Don't worry, there will be a timeskip to 2011, as it is currently 1999 in my story. It will happen, I'm just not sure when. Harry is currently eighteen. There will be another chapter tomorrow. Woop!_

_Also, Genevieve Armand and Gabiel do have a part in the story. It's just not yet. They have roles to play, later on. Just letting you know, so they aren't just there for filler._

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	8. Peggy Carter

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them_

* * *

Harry cursed his bad luck. Right when he landed, he had to be met with a man who wanted to turn him into a bloody pulp. Add to that, he clearly wasn't open to magic, or in the know about it, so he was understandably freaked out. The lashing out, though, was different to most things he'd experienced before. That didn't matter right now. What mattered was that his wand was snapped, taking away any magical means of defending himself. To top it all off, he wasn't exactly the pinnacle of fitness and strength. Harry could already tell that if he didn't use his smarts, this was going to be a very one sided fight.

He only wanted to go to New York, not be greeted by a madman. Harry stood from his crouching position, very aware of the ruined wand in his pocket and his change in appearance. Now wasn't the time to be freaking out over that.

"What are you?" jeered the man, landing a punch on a struggling Harry. "First, you appear in a flash of light, and then you change your appearance? You're fucking weird, you know that?"

Harry weakly swung his fist, exhaustion from the glamour coursing through his system."You can't do this," he spat. Of course, that was never going to work on this man, who Harry suddenly decided to dub the man Brian. Why, he didn't know. It wasn't like there was time to consider his choice in name!

"That's where you're wrong. I can do whatever I want, this is a free country. And you're tiny." Brian sniggered. "What the Hell are you going to do about it?" Brian pinned Harry against the wall, knocking all the air out of him. Harry feet flailed, at least a foot off the ground. At least he wasn't pinned by the neck. That wasn't something he wanted to go through again.

"You're a bully." Brian struck Harry's face again, leaving behind a red, stinging mark in the shape of a hand. He tried to use the opportunity to get away, but Brian didn't budge an inch. "You're no more than a coward." Harry was so tired, all he wanted to do was fall onto the ground and drift off to sleep. Comfort be damned.

Brian sneered, getting up in Harry's face. His breath smelled worse than engine oil, all rotting food and stinking animal carcasses. Little bits of food were stuck in between his uneven, yellow and chipped teeth. Harry recoiled, but couldn't get any further away. "Wrong. You're the coward here, runt. You're not even fighting back." Brian let him go. Harry crumpled down into a heap, but quickly collected himself, raising his fists.

"I could do this all day." He spat the blood out of his mouth. The man swung a punch at him again. Harry sluggishly dodged, barely missing getting pummelled. His balance was off, so fell to the ground, all the air getting knocked out of his lungs, the man towering over him. He was at least six feet tall, which was very unfortunate for Harry, who happened to be on the shorter side of things.

"Hey!" A strongly accented English voice interrupted the fight. The man wheeled around. Harry saw a woman, wearing tidy, if not old fashioned, clothing and with short, grey hair, striding down the alley. He groaned. She look ancient. Now she was going to get hurt, too. "You can stop now."

"And how are you going to make me do that?" Brian snorted. "You're an old bag." Harry frowned. He found the remark to be very disrespectful. The frowning stopped when a heavily booted foot landed on his chest. Harry wheezed.

"Ah," the woman said, smiling condescendingly. "That may be true, this old bag has a bit of fire left in her yet." She pulled out a pistol, seemingly from nowhere, aiming it carefully at Brian. From her careful aim and steady arm, Harry knew she was very experienced with it. "I may not be able to pack such a good punch anymore, but I sure can pull a trigger. I've dealt with men who are far more threatening than you. To me, you're just a washed up punk with nothing better to do than beat up those smaller than you. So why don't you get lost, before I make you."

"How are you going to make me leave? It's not like you're going to fire it. I know your type. You're the kind of person who makes empty threat. You never carry through with it.

"And I know your type better." She cocked the gun with an ominous clicking noise. The bastard in front of Harry didn't move, clearly believing his previous words.

Perfect.

Harry used the opportunity to kick the man in the groin. Hard. Perhaps a smidge too viciously. Instantly, Brian's face paled and he fell to his knees, eyes wide from pain, groaning. Harry scrambled away, but not before landing a punch on his head. It didn't send him to the ground but it was good enough to send the man packing, cursing about 'bastards and bitches ruining his fun.' Harry didn't even bother turning around to watch him go, not wanting to even give him the pride of being watched.

"Are you alright?" asked the woman. "That was quite the beating. Well done on getting him. Your courage is admirable." Harry pulled himself to his feet and turned around, rubbing the side of his face where he'd been hit several time. That was going to bruise, he just knew it. When the woman saw his face, her eyes widened. "No...this can't be possible."

"I'm sorry?" She looked like she'd seen a ghost, her face all pale and hands shaking. "Have I done something wrong?" Harry felt like he'd seen her somewhere before, a distant memory, lost in a fog.

"No..no. You look like someone I used to know, is all." She put the pistol back to wherever it came from. Harry took a closer look at her face and recognition dawned in his eyes.

"You're Peggy Carter. Oh, I'm so sorry." She raised an eyebrow.

"What for?"

"Looking like this," Harry said lamely. She snorted, a strange sound coming out of someone who looked so dignified and regal. There was a certain toughness around her, though, which made Harry immediately respect her.

"It's nothing you need to apologise for. I'm not so sensitive that seeing the face of someone I knew a long time ago will send me into a fit of hysterics." Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, I guess."

"What were you doing down here, anyway? An alley isn't exactly a place someone wants to go."

Harry fumbled for an explanation. "I thought I saw something, is all." Peggy clearly didn't believe him, but didn't press for more, which he greatly appreciated.

"Okay. Well, I'll take you back to my place and fix you up. You took quite the beating…" She trailed off, waiting for Harry to introduce himself. He obliged.

"Harry. Harry Potter." Peggy's eyes widened slightly, almost in recognition, like she'd heard the name before. "I'm sorry, have you heard my name before?" Harry asked.

"A long time ago. It was the name of one of my good friends. My memory is really getting rattled today, isn't it?" She chuckled slightly.

"I suppose so?" They walked out of the alley and into New York. Harry couldn't contain his awe. Peggy smirked.

"You look like this is your first time in New York."

"You could say that…"

"Do you mean it's more amazing every time you see it?"

"Yeah, something like that." Harry smiled. He was extremely lucky to have run into Peggy Carter. It was contrary to his usual fortune, a nice change in pace. What wasn't a nice change in pace was the snapped wand in his jacket pocket, which he was very aware of. He couldn't pull it out here, though. Not in front of a muggle, even if the muggle was especially exceptional and had experience with with supernatural. Without it, he wouldn't be able to change back his appearance or unshrink his luggage.

Great.

"You're beginning to bruise already."

"That isn't surprising."

"Do you get into fights often?"

Harry snorted. "More often than I would like."

"You're even more like my old friend."

"Steve Rogers, right?"

"I...yes, that's him."

Harry paused for a second, wondering if she should tell her the truth. She would want to know, even if it meant he would be put on a pedestal. He made the decision to tell her when they were in a private place, as much as he didn't want to admit it. Perhaps, the truth could be a good thing in this situation. Help him move on with his healing, which Hermione was always harping at him to do. When they got back to her place, which he was very thankful for, he would probably fall asleep straight away. He was totally exhausted, running on empty.

Eventually, they made it back to her house, an apartment near the centre of the city. When they stepped in, it was like Harry had been transported back in time to the forties. He didn't pay attention to any of this. Through his drooping eyelids, the tidy, practical couch in the lounge looked very inviting.

Harry yawned. "Sorry, do you mind if I take a quick nap?"

"After I patch you up."

"But⎯"

"No. Sit down. I'll be right back." Harry sat. She was just like all he'd read about her, strong willed and not taking any shit from anybody. She returned with a medical kit and put plasters over his cuts, not saying a word. She finished, packing it away. Harry had to admit, he didn't feel slightly less sore, even if it didn't stop Brian's bruises hurting like a bitch."Now, sleep."

Harry didn't hesitate. He was asleep before he hit the armrest.

* * *

He woke up to the brightness of day. Sometime during his sleep, a pillow had been placed under his head,a blanket over his frail body and his shoes and socks removed from his feet. Peggy was sitting on the other side of the lounge, leafing through what looked to be an old leather photo album. He groaned, causing Peggy to look up.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

"How long was I out?" Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes. He then stretched. It was a good stretch.

"Well, you've been lying on my couch for two days. And you snore louder than a spitfire engine, I'll have you know. I haven't had a moment of peace since you drifted off." Even though she was jesting, Harry blushed a bright beet red, mind clearing. He knew what he wanted to tell her, what he needed to tell her. He needed to do it now, before he would choke on his words and keep it down forever.

"Miss Carter," he began, not feeling comfortable calling her Peggy, "I think there's something you should know about me.

"Yes?" She closed her album and looked up expectantly. Harry gulped down his fear, wringing his hands. Best to do it when he wasn't totally aware of what he was doing, right? While the fog mist that clouded your mind just after you woke up obscured common sense.

"This is quite important." Peggy nodded.

"Just say it, Mr. Potter. Holding your tongue won't be good for either of us."

"Okay, here goes." Harry took a deep breath, fighting off the urge to not say the words he'd been refusing to say since February. "Steve Rogers is my biological father." He anxiously glanced at Peggy, determinedly ignoring the horror at saying those words rushing through him.

Peggy smiled softly, knowingly. "I know."

* * *

_Ooh, something slightly more important has happened. Something kind of big. This is what I like to call a bridging chapter, so is shorter by nature. I did enjoy writing it. Next chapter, some big secrets are revealed, so don't forget to tune in for that. Thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows. It's dearly appreciated._

_**If anyone has any ideas that they want to suggest for this story, please do. I am kind of writing this as I go, with only the most basic ideas of a plot. I've set up a future arc in this chapter, but I do want some more ideas.**_

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	9. But, you're not normal, are you, Harry?

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them_

* * *

"I'm sorry?" Harry's voice was thick with disbelief. This couldn't be true. How could Peggy Carter of all people know that Steve Rogers was his biological father? True, they looked scarily similar, which unnerved Harry to this day, but to strangers it could be written off as a freakily accurate coincidence.

"I know you're his son." Harry closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening. There needed to be a reasonable explanation for this. Surely, there was one. He would find out.

"How can you know? We literally just met. For all you know, I could just look freakily like him." As he said the words, Harry knew that Peggy wouldn't fall for it. She was far too sharp minded and astute for that.

Peggy shook her head. Well, he had been right there. "When you look that much like someone, it isn't a coincidence. And, besides, I'm part of the reason you're alive." A strange buzzing began to fill Harry's ears. Black spots sparked on the edge of his vision as his hands tightened around the pillow he was currently strangling to death. How. How was she part of the reason he was alive. This couldn't be possible. It had to be a bad dream. A bad, confusing fever dream where twists and turns were thrust at him at every turn and he failed every single one.

"What?" Harry gaped at her. "How can you be a part of why I'm alive. This can't be true!"

"I donated Steve's sperm."

That was all it took. Harry slumped back on the couch, arms slack and eyes blank. His mind was wiped of all thoughts, replaced by a white vastness filled with nothing and everything. He made a small noise, similar to a cat getting strangled, and managed to pull himself back from his near stupor. He didn't feel like going into another one of those anytime soon. He couldn't get away from the thing that Peggy had just said, though. That was impossible.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say." He returned to clutching the pillow. Everywhere he went, bad luck was just thrown his way. In fact, Harry was just wishing he'd stayed home and worked through the days he was meant to be on holiday. Then, at least, things would be relatively normal. He could still hide the truth from anyone who looked at him, not having to face the truth. Even though that was only three days ago, it felt like a lifetime. A much more desirable lifetime.

"I'm not expecting you to say anything. In fact, if you want to ignore me, that's fine. You look like you've been hit by a bus." Her tone was gentle. It infuriated him. She couldn't just drop something like that on him and use such a gentle tone, like she was expecting him to be _alright. _

"Well, yeah," Harry scoffed. "This isn't exactly something normal to find out. I thought I was done with surprises."

"But, you're not normal, are you, Harry?"

"You have no idea," he muttered. Peggy smiled gently.

"I have quite the idea. In a few days, I'll show you where the New York Wizarding District, so you can get a new wand."

Harry's eyes widened. Well, another curveball that was thrown his way. What did one more matter? Why don't all of the surprises get thrown my way, Harry viciously thought. It wouldn't be anything he was unfamiliar with. Honestly, at this point, he could be the dictionary definition of curveball. "You know about magic?"

"You can't exactly be me without knowing about the wizarding world. I've been keeping tabs on you wizards for decades."

"So, you know about me," Harry said dully. Just one more person who knew more about him than he knew about himself. _Brilliant. _

"Yes, I know about your different appearance and what you sacrificed to save the people you loved. I've been keeping tabs on you for quite a while, Mr. Potter. It's incredible how much like Steve you are." Her eyes were soft, but Harry's hardened.

"Don't compare me to him," Harry said sharply. "Just because you're indirectly responsible for me being alive, doesn't mean that I have to like what you've done."

"Of course."

Harry paused for a second. "Did he know?" She knew exactly who he was talking about, even though his name was never uttered.

"About me taking the sample?" Her eyes flicked down to the floor. "No, he didn't."

"What made you think it was alright?" Harry whispered.

"Steve always wanted children."

"But he didn't know. Your morals aren't exactly straight, _ma'am._" Harry breathed deeply. He was suddenly overwhelmed by an overpowering desire to leave the large apartment, which was becoming claustrophobic. It was like his fear was pressing down on his. Abruptly, he stood. "I'm sorry, I just need some time to think. I'll be back later." He left the apartment, almost running down the stairs.

He didn't see Peggy getting on the phone to call someone.

Harry found himself on an unfamiliar street. Perfect. This was what he needed right now. A strange area to roam, to absentmindedly walk around in and get lost in. It didn't matter where he was going. What he needed right now was to get away from that apartment and the terrible truths it held.

He knew it was going to take a while to get his head around the fact that Peggy had stolen and donated the sperm. Steve Rogers hadn't even known that there was the possibility of him to have children through a sperm bank. The thought made him feel slightly uncomfortable, like there were ants crawling underneath his skin and boring through his muscles.

He shook his head and cleared his mind, eventually just meandering pointlessly around the city until he came to a park with a bench and sat down. His feet were killing him, so sitting down was a sweet reprieve.

Soon, someone sat down on the bench next to him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," said Harry sarcastically. "Look at me, sitting on a bench, being all happy."

"Fair response." Harry looked up and saw a man with dark skin. The second thing he noticed was his hands, which were horrendously scarred. Harry wondered what had happened to cause them. It would have been painful, whatever it was.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

"No, but I know you."

"Of course you do." Harry made to stand, but the man put a hand on his shoulder, making him sit down.

"Peggy called me out here to talk to you." Harry scooted away, down to the other end of the bench. The man sighed. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Dr. Glenn Hannigan. I performed the procedure that made you...alive." He frowned at the words. "I've certainly lost a lot of my articulation over the years.

"I really don't want to talk to you now," Harry hissed. Honestly, couldn't his problems just leave him alone? And now the man who had fricken created him was here, trying to console him. He didn't need a babysitter.

"Yes, I realise that," said Dr. Hannigan. "But if you run away from this talk now, when will you ever return? You'll be running away from the truth forever, never facing up to your fears. What you did earlier today was progress, but you immediately squandered it by leaving. You can't keep doing that, because one day all of your running away from the truth is going to catch up with you."

"See if I care."

"You should. Please, listen to me. I would like to tell you a story."

"And how is that going to help me? I can't get away from you people. First Peggy and now you? It's like I'm being stalked."

"She wasn't stalking you."

"Well, it may seem that way to you. To me, it's a total invasion of privacy."

Dr. Hannigan ignored his previous statement. "Listen, please."

"Fine." Harry grumpily flopped backwards, arms crossed like a petulant toddler. He wasn't going to give this man proper posture. "Tell your story, then leave me alone. I really don't need to be followed right now. What I actually need is to be alone. Completely alone, with my thoughts."

"Of course. I just want to give you something to think over."

"Well, get it over with."

Dr. Hannigan smiled softly. "This story begins around thirty years ago. A little boy's parents were murdered right in front of him, traumatising him for life. Nobody around him offered a shred of support or love, causing him to internalise the pain and never talk about it. Over the next few years, this little boy became a very secretive, angry person. But, not angry with the world.

"No, he was angry with himself, blaming the death of his parents on himself. Eventually, from not facing the pain, not letting himself see the truth, he decided that he didn't deserve to live anymore. He tried to burn down his house and die inside, making it look like an accident. Even though he didn't want to live anymore, the shame of people finding out what he'd done was even more powerful.

"Before he could die, though, the firefighters arrived and pulled him out of the wreckage, to safety. His hands and feet were burned along with his back and chest. The recovery took years, but at the end of it, he realised that he wanted to stop others from going through his pain. So, he became a doctor.

"Do you want to know this little boy's name?"

"Sure, why not." Though the reply was sarcastic and apathetic, Harry was feeling more than a bit sad inside. For some reason, the story had hit quite hard at home. "Fire away."

"Glenn Hannigan."

"You?"

"How do you think I got these scars?"

"I didn't know how."

"And I don't expect you to. But, Harry Potter, take this into account. I won't let you end up like I did, on a perpetual downwards spiral. Your parents, may they rest in peace, would have told you the truth of your conception as soon as they thought fit. I talked with them for hours and came to know them rather well. I will tell you this once, and only once. Your parents were proud of you and didn't care what you looked like or that James wasn't your father. So, you can stop acting like it's a shameful thing that James isn't your father. It isn't something you need to be ashamed of.

"So take the step now and realise that. I promise that from there, things will come easier." He stood, putting his hat back on. "I bid you good day, Mr. Potter." And with that, he left, leaving Harry in a stunned silence, sitting on a park bench, lost in thought.

* * *

"The entrance is through here." Peggy pointed him towards a totally ordinary looking grove of trees in Central Park. "To gain entrance, you need to press a knot on an oak tree. I won't be coming with you, as I have things to do." She was being very kind to him, which he didn't understand. For the last few days he'd been lashing out at her, being all around rude and disrespecting her. It wasn't something he realised he was doing until it was done and a disappointed frown sat upon Peggy's lips. The guilt was potent, but he acted like it didn't bother him. Of course, being Peggy Carter, she saw right through his facade.

"Thanks," Harry said. Though he was still a bit frosty around her, after Dr. Hannigan's talk with him, he was coming around to her. It would take a little while.

"Goodbye," she said abruptly, about turning and striding off. Harry blinked in shock. That was...quick. Then again, he didn't need her to show him everything about the grove.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Bye."

He walked forward into the grove of trees. All of them were very similar, the bark patterns almost identical. After a while of feeling totally clueless, he noticed that one similarity they all had was the smoothness of their surfaces. There were no knots on any of them except a surprisingly large oak. Ah. So that was his entrance. As soon as he pressed the knot into the tree (after making sure no muggles were looking, of course) a door opened, the bark peeling back, wood underneath turning into blocks and folding back, not unlike the bricks at the entrance to DIagon Alley. A flight of stairs led down. Harry groaned.

Of course it was stairs.

At the bottom of the extremely long staircase, which was so lengthy it was almost unnecessary, there was a heavy, well worn door with a heavy handle. Harry pushed it open and his mouth fell open in sheer awe. He felt like he was a kid again, seeing Diagon Alley for the first time.

The entire New York Wizarding District was a giant underground cavern, the ceiling a polished stone with beautiful murals covering it. Brightly coloured luminescent crystals reached out of the ceiling, reaching down and casting gentle hues all over the market. The buildings that filled the cavern were numerous, coming in all shapes and sizes. Some were short and fat, others tall, thin and painted neon green. The colours, which would usually clash, somehow worked, making the space seem welcoming. And the people roaming around in it were no less eccentric. It was like Tonks had made hundreds of clones and they were all following her clothing and hairstyles.

In short, Harry was amazed that something so vibrant could hide in the middle of New York. Then again, Diagon Alley was hidden in the middle of London, so…

He began wandering around, but didn't find the wand shop. He didn't even know its name. Then again, he was getting horribly distracted by all the buildings and displays around him. For the second time in his life, he wished he had eight pairs of eyes to be able to take everything in. He approached a woman who was walking past, who was wearing outrageously bright clothes, fitting in with the entire place. Harry was beginning to feel particularly drab, dressed only in blacks and greys.

"Excuse me, do you know where the wand shop is?"

"Oh, Juniper's?" Her nose was pointed, and voice cheerful. "Yeah, it's just down the end of this street. It's quite easy to miss. He doesn't like to make a spectacle of his shop. Compared to the others here, it's actually quite boring." She leaned in closer to Harry. "If I were him, I would do it up. A lot. The front especially could do with a spruce up. A nice lime green, or perhaps orange. Or both! Ooh, that would be absolutely stunning. What do you think?"

"Sure, yeah," Harry said hastily. He needed to get away from her. If he didn't, he could already tell she was going to yatter on until he was nothing more than a skeleton. "I've got to go, alright?"

She deflated slightly, before brightening again. "Nice meeting you!" She waved cheerfully, before skipping of in a manner reminiscent of Luna Lovegood. What a strange woman.

Harry followed her directions and found Juniper's, painted a fading grey. Compared to the shops around it, it was definitely the less fancy. Harry appreciated it. At least his eyes weren't being blinded by shocking pinks and highlighter yellows now.

He stepped inside the shop and was greeted with a smell very similar to Ollivander's store. A second later, an ancient man with even more wrinkles than Gladys Jones rushed out. His eyes were wide and darting around everywhere.

"Hello, how can I help you. No, I'll stop you right there. A wand. You're here for a wand. I'll go and get one." Harry's first thought of the strange little man was that he was very twitchy. A minute later, he returned, carrying several wands, all without cases.

"I'm Harry, if you wanted to know."

"I know, I know. Now, try this." A wand was thrust into his hand. Harry took it and didn't feel anything. Somehow, he knew this process was going to take a long time. "That isn't right." The man was so similar to Ollivander it was unnerving.

Surprisingly, it was on the third wand that he felt the telltale spark. Immediately, he knew that it was the wand for him, even if the feeling of it was very different than his holly one, which he sorely missed. Juniper merely nodded at him.

"Good. Take this card. Get going. Enjoy your wand." Juniper handed Harry a card and shooed him out of the shop, after taking the eight galleons required to pay for the wand. Harry hastily exited. Something about the shop made him shiver. Wanting to put his mind on another tracks, he looked down at it and read the details of the wand.

**Wood: Maple**

**Core: Phoenix feather**

**Length: 13 ¼ inches**

**Meaning: This wand was made when a phoenix went up in flames, the feather the only remnant of its old self. The phoenix feather and maple wood combined signify rebirth most strongly, with themes of rebellion and healing mixed in. **

Harry snorted. Of course, his wand was just like his current situation. But, he thought, did it really matter? Things were looking up for him now. And he was going to make the most of it.

Yet, the second he had a shred of privacy, he threw the glamour back on without hesitation.

* * *

_Woohoo, another chapter. Also, we reached 20,000 views already. This is phenomenal. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Also, what do you think of Dr. Hannigan? I really like his character and am contemplating bringing him back. I feel like there's so much more I can do with his character._

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	10. SHIELD

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them_

* * *

Harry dug around in his pocket, searching for his shrunken trunk. Ever since he'd asked Hermione to place an extension charm on it, sticking his hand into it was a bit daunting. Just knowing he had a void in his pants made his laugh slightly. Finally, his hands closed around it and he drew it out. It wasn't similar to his Hogwarts trunk in the slightest, which he was no longer using. This one was quite a bit smaller but had more room inside, thank to the multiple extension charms place upon it (they needed to be replaced every few months, due to the volatile nature of the spells). It was covered in a dark brown leather, with vine like designs pressed into it. It was also the shape of a briefcase, which was very handy for traveling. A feather-light charm completed it.

Harry placed it down on the coffee table and flicked the latches up, with a little 'click.' Inside, was a jumble of unfolded, wrinkles clothes, mostly grey and black t-shirts, with the odd pair of worn, ripped jeans and sneakers thrown in for good measure. However, the mess was organised. Harry happened to know where everything was, which he was very proud of. What he was looking for wasn't secreted away within the tangled mess of garments. It was held safely in a small pocket on the lid; tickets to Washington D.C, where he was going to visit the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum to find out more about Steve Rogers. There was only so much you could find online and in libraries. He also needed to be speedy about it, as his plane was leaving quite soon.

Muffled footsteps, belonging to a woman wearing heels, sounded outside of the door to the apartment. Without even turning around, and before the key even turned in the lock, Harry knew it was Peggy, returning from her errands. He snapped his trunk shut and stood to face her. She smiled slightly.

"I see finding a wand was a success." Peggy moved into the kitchen and started making a cup of tea, delicate china clinking. Harry followed her and casually leaned against the doorframe. He was far more comfortable in her presence than he was a few weeks ago. He was even considering visiting again, after he left America, is she was alright with it.

"Yeah, it was." He fingered the new, unfamiliar wand in his pocket. It was going to take a lot of getting used to.

"You going somewhere?" She plopped a cube of sugar into her tea.

"Washington."

"May I ask why?"

"Smithsonian." She raised her head and smiled proudly at him. Harry found himself glowering. He could just hear the encouraging words about to come out of her mouth. Instead, to his surprise, she said:

"I see. I wish you well."

"I thought you would say more."

"Who am I to keep you here?"

"I see your point." He stood up straight, no longer using the doorframe. The time on his battered gold watch was ominously ticking forward. Missing his plane was the last thing he needed right now. "Thank you for putting me up for a few weeks. I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

"Didn't you have another place to stay?"

"Yeah." Harry paused, biting his lip. "I should probably pay them off. That's a thought. Forgot to contact them."

"I can take care of that for you, just go get your flight?"

"Really?"

"Of course. After all I've put you through, it's that last I could do."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." She smiled sadly at him, then suddenly said, "Steve wasn't a bad guy. You don't need to be ashamed to wear your true appearance."

"It's a more personal issue," said Harry. "I'm working through it."

"Good."

"I really need to go." Harry paused by the door, turning back to face Peggy. "Thank you, so much. You gave me...you gave me the wake up call I needed, even though I didn't think I needed it."

She waved goodbye. "Go and get your plane, you silly boy."

"Right. Bye!"

* * *

The plane trip went well, if not being a bit nerve wracking for Harry. He would never admit it, but it was his first time on a plane. The landing was the worst, with his ears popping all over the place. You would think with all the time he spent zipping around the skies on his broom he would be more used to it by now. After he landed, he made his way through throngs of people and was about to get into a taxi take him to hit accommodation. Unfortunately, he was stopped by a middle aged man with a beak like nose and receding hairline.

"Excuse me, are you Harry Potter?"

"Who wants to know?" Harry didn't bother looking at him. If this was someone who had followed from New York, he swore...

"My name is Phil Coulson, and I'm with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." Harry blinked twice, totally bamboozled.

"Come again."

"You can call us SHIELD for short." Coulson looked relatively pleased with himself. "We would like to speak to you."

"About what?"

"That is classified information at this point in time."

"What happens if I don't come with you?"

"We may be forced to make you cooperate."

"You know what?" Harry turned to face Coulson. "I just came here to research my fa―" He cut himself off, swallowing the words that wormed out of his throat. Coulson gave him a strange look. "Look, I'm just here to visit the Smithsonian. I don't need more randoms approaching me in public."

"I assure you, I am far from a random."

"Yeah, you aren't the first to say that." He made to leave, but was stopped.

"My boss would like to meet with you. He has an offer for you."

"Okay, fine." Harry stopped, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "What makes this offer different than all the others I get? Before you ask, I'm not promoting a product."

"We have no products to promote." Inwardly, Harry sagged in relief.

"You know what, I'll humour you people, just this once. Doesn't mean I have to be nice." Perhaps, he was just feeling nice today. Well, niceish. Nice, served with a side dish of bitter ginger.

"Good. Our car is waiting just down there."

Harry followed Coulson quite a way down the footpath. Eventually, they reached a sleek black SUV. Harry sardonically raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you've certainly got quite the operation going."

"You have no idea."

They rode in silence. After a short ride, they reached a fairly large, nondescript building. Harry was escorted to an office, where a black man with a patch over his eye sat. He wore a black turtleneck and leather eye patch. For some reason, he reminded Harry of a grungy pirate. Coulson left, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"Mr. Potter. Welcome. Please, take a seat."

"You can't be that polite." The words just didn't match the image the man had going on.

"You would be right."

"Well, what do you want?"

"To ask you to join a team I'm putting together."

"Yeah, no can do."

"I haven't even explained what it's about."

"Look, I don't want to hear it. I'm sick of being asked to do things I don't want to."

Fury sighed and pulled out a card. "Alright, I understand. But keep this card, if you ever want to get in contact with us." He watched intently until Harry put it away.

"Thanks, I guess."

He was promptly shown out by Coulson, his face looking slightly more stony than it did before.

Later that day, he took an international portkey back to London, disappearing in a swirl of glittering rainbow colours.

* * *

_Sorry for the huge delay. Schoolwork is a bitch right now, and passing this year is more important than this story, sorry. The reason it is so short is because I was only able to just squeeze this in. Anyway, SHIELD is now involved in the story. Woohoo! Things will be picking up soon, with Steve getting involved in around 4-7 chapters. I haven't quite mapped it out yet._

_For those of you who are wondering, this story is currently in June/July on 1999. A time jump/skip is coming up soon._

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	11. Something's Changing

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them_

* * *

Harry took a deep breath and stared at his reflection. With careful, attentive eyes, he studied his reflection, every little imperfection, from the barely there freckle on his left cheek to the extremely choppy nature of his jet black hair. Hands quivering, he removed the fake circular frames from his face and gently placed them on the bathroom cabinet. It took a while more of staring at his reflection before he picked up his new maple and phoenix feather wand with loose fingers.

"Alright, Potter, you've got this. You can do this." Closing his eyes, Harry pointed the wand at his head and half-heartedly uttered the words, "_Tunc Spectat Imperium." _The familiar prickling sensation spread over his skin, changing him back to his true appearance, the one he used to hate. Now, two months after returning from America, he was merely indifferent. He didn't avoid seeing it with a passion, but didn't actively change his appearance back to it either. It was Dr. Hannigan that had him thinking like this.

Now, he was ready to willingly take the glamour off for the first time in nearly seven months, to stare his true self in the face, no matter how frail he was, no matter how blue his eyes were, no matter how blond his hair was. For the first time, he was going to really take in his new appearance and start the road to accepting the fact that no matter what he looked like, no matter what other people saw him as, inside he was still the same Harry, no matter who his father was.

Ron was the one who finally managed to get him to come around to the fact that things weren't so bad. Sure, it had taken him getting a right good yelling at to finally come around, even if it was just to stop the verbal hailstorm that was being sent his way. His reluctant admission that he was going to start coming round to the fact made his eyes light up. The memory made Harry smile, slightly.

He took a deep breath. There was no point delaying this any further, staying comfortably wrapped up in his thoughts, avoiding the truth that was right in front of him. So, taking all of his courage, Harry opened his eyes, knowing what he was going to see.

Surprisingly, the change in appearance didn't startle him as much as he thought it would. In the mirror stood a man who he once thought a stranger. An urgent desire to look away threatened to overpower him, but Harry forced himself to stay staring at his appearance, refusing to let his eyes stray. Instead, he took in every little detail, imprinting it in his brain, securing it with lock and key.

Now that he was looking slightly closer, he saw that his facial structure wasn't a carbon copy of Steve Rogers. While he did have the low, serious eyebrows, the pointed chin, straight nose and intense blue eyes of Steve Rogers, his high cheekbones, thin lips and slightly gingery blonde hair no came from his mother. There was also a light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, like someone had taken a paint brush and flicked it at random across his face.

It...wasn't too bad. In fact, staring at himself, Harry realised that maybe this wasn't the end of the world. There were certainly some good looking aspects to his face, even if he did look like a sickly victorian boy, what with his thin, twig-like frame.

And, when he left the bathroom, Harry didn't return to using the glamour. He walked out with his real appearance, slightly uncomfortable, but getting used to it. He didn't avoid looking in reflective surfaces, like the television and toaster. Instead, he curled up on the couch, his scratchy little bin cat curled up on his bony legs, enjoying the silence that filled the apartment and his mind. For once, there was no revulsion, no hatred, no anxious thoughts.

Just...peace.

* * *

"Mr. Potter, what are your comments on the latest article from Genevieve Armand?"

"Harry, are the things she's writing true?"

Said man groaned, biting his tongue to stifle the angry outburst threatening to bubble out. Couldn't he just run his business without people barging in and hounding him for answers? He thoughts those days were long over. It seemed that the press never forgot anything, and Harry cursed himself for forgetting that.

"Harry, what are you going to say to Hermione?"

His left eye twitched. _He wasn't going to answer._

"Mr. Potter, how do you feel about her betrayal?"

His right foot began a short tempered tapping. _Ignore them._

"Are you going to crash the wedding, Harry?"

His grip on the ice cream scoop tightened. _Don't give them the answers they want._

"What are you going to do about this problem?"

Just as the scoop in his hand began fracturing under his grip, a very familiar woman barged her way to the front of the crowd, with mousy brown hair and a ruddy, pockmarked face. It was a face that Harry had learned to hate, even more than he had hated Rita Skeeter. If Rita Skeeter was a bad smell, then Genevieve Armand was the whole sewer. He had to stop himself from storming out right then and there. Unfortunately, he couldn't do this because there were still customers waiting to be served. Deserting them wasn't the best thing he could do right now.

"Harry," Armand crooned, perching herself on the bench. "Darling, how are you?" He didn't reply, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. Undeterred, she continued. "What are your thoughts on the recent proposal?" Still, he didn't reply, just scooped the previous order up and handed it to the very flustered looking man, who booked it out of the store the second the cone touched his hand.

Armand whipped out a notebook, accompanied by an elaborate eagle feather quill. Every time he saw her, she was becoming more and more like Skeeter, only amplified a whole lot more. "Come on, surely you have some juicy details you would like to share with us. My readers are just dying from anticipation. You wouldn't want to leave them hanging, would you?"

"I couldn't care less." The sentence was muttered so quietly Harry didn't think anyone could hear it. Apparently, Armand also had elephant ears and picked up on the sentence. When her eyes brightened and lips quirked, he wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole. "Dammit."

"That isn't very nice, is it?" Armand had the audacity to hop over the counter and grab his arm. Not in a fond way, though. Her grip was tight, twisting his skin, making him wince. He could see the malice in her eyes. "Why don't you tell me your opinion on the proposal, and then I'll leave?"

Harry yanked his arm out of her grip. "Don't touch me ever again." The words were hissed, his voice dangerous and low. "I've put up with you for a long time, but today you've crossed a line."

"I'm a reporter, crossing lines is what I do. Trust me, if I had any qualms about it, I would have quit a long time ago." She crossed her arms. "Now, that opinion." Harry could see the expectant faces looking at him through the glass, all yearning for juicy details, for something they could print in their wannabe gossip rags.

A sudden idea struck him. How about he gave them the information they wanted, but in a way that would frustrate them?

"Okay, I'll answer, but then you have to leave." Harry itched the top of his head, getting rid of a small prickle. "Promise?"

"I always keep my promises, darling." Harry felt like screaming into a rag. The way she said that word, _darling, _like he owed her something. It drove him up the wall.

"Okay, here's my opinion." Here came the punchline. "I'm happy for them." They blinked at him with wide, puzzled eyes, looking like a bunch of children lost in the forest. "Leave now, please."

"Huh?" For once, Armand was lost for words. The utter befuddlement on her face was something he would treasure forever. "That can't be it."

"Well it is."

"Harry, how did you react when you found out?" A man, leaning up against the counter, gazed at him with expectant eyes. Compared to some of the other...characters in this shop, he was dressed rather well, with a suit and tie, obviously from the muggle world.

Didn't mean Harry was going to answer him, though.

"I said, leave."

"Just a minute." Another woman called from the back of the crowd. Harry scratched his head again, the itching becoming worse.

"I am trying to run a business here!" Frustration ran through his veins, but it was soon replaced by fear as the familiar prickling sensation of his glamour fading away. He dropped the scoop, not even hearing as it clattered to the ground, too busy fishing his wand out of his holster. But even as he turned on his heel and disapparated, he knew it was too late, from the shocked faces surrounding him and the blond strand of hair falling in front of his eyes.

When he collapsed in a heap in his apartment, there was only one word going through his head, only one thought, the only thing that he could be thinking.

_Fuck._

* * *

Harry didn't look at the newspapers for the next week. He didn't answer the door, or let anyone, bar Ron and Hermione, come through the floo network. There were a multitude of Howlers going off within a contained and silenced area. Because he wasn't listening to them, they were yelling at each other, which was a fairly amusing situation to watch.

That was nothing compared to the thoughts running through his mind. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. How could he have let the glamour drop in public? How did it even drop? It wasn't like he'd uttered the spell under his breath. Hermione had no theories, but she also had her recent engagement to see to. At his insistence, she'd gone off to spend time with Ron, while he frantically perused the books to see if there was any answer. Just to be safe, he hadn't reused the spell since, staying with his true appearance.

There was nothing. In a bout of frustration, Harry hurled the book across the room, where it collided with a wall and flopped to the floor. Muttering under his breath, Harry stood up and walked into the kitchen. Halfway there, he stopped, adjusting his pants. For some reason, it felt like they were too tight. He continued to the fridge, where he got out some leftover dinner. After shoving it in the microwave, he stopped what he was doing and adjusted the pants once again. He couldn't understand why they were so tight. He glanced down and nearly fell over at what he saw.

The hem was now sitting several inches above his ankle, and they were significantly tighter. Now that he thought about his, his shirt was getting tighter as well. Not even wanting an explanation right now, far too tired to even think of possibilities, Harry flopped down onto the couch and groaned.

_Why him? Why did strange things always happen to him? Was he a magnet of sorts? A super strong variety, tuned especially for trouble and out of the ordinary, inexpicable events?_

No matter. He would look into it tomorrow. Right now, he needed a right good sulk.

And sulk he did.

* * *

_Ooh, excitement. Can you guess what's happening at the end? Hehe, I hope you like it. _

_From now on, I'm updating on Sundays. Major assignment is complete, so woop._

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	12. When Hermione Turns Into A Mad Scientist

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

"There is one thing that we need to talk about, regarding the sperm that you have chosen." Dr. Hannigan steepled his fingers on his desk, casting serious eyes on the anxious couple in front of him. James stiffened slightly, eyebrows furrowing. Lily gently placed her hands on her stomach, where her three month old baby was currently growing, as if she was shielding it from the bad news with them.

"Has something gone wrong with it?" James asked, the picture of calm. On the inside, though, his insides were twisting themselves into an impossible knot, so complicated that even Lily's hairbrush wouldn't be able to solve it. "Please tell me it's alright."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with the child, quite the contrary. What I'm going to tell you today is only good." James sagged in relief, while Lily smiled softly. She was more radiant than ever. "Your child is going to be the picture of health, I guarantee it."

"How can you tell?"

"Remember when I told you about Dr. Abraham Erskine and his experiments with the Super Soldier Serum?" They nodded in confirmation, and Dr. Hannigan continued. "Do you also remember how I told you how I wasn't sure how it would manifest in your child?"

"Have you found out?" Lily gasped, eyes wide. Even though she knew there was nothing to fear, her hands were shaking slightly.

"Indeed I have, Mrs. Potter."

"I've told you to call me Lily."

"Of course." He retrieved a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to James.

"This is good right?"

"As I said before, this is excellent news. The Super Soldier Serum may manifest in your child later in its life, or it may not. Even if it doesn't, your child will be perfectly healthy. The possibilities of it having any diseases are infinitesimal."

"I'm just so glad we decided to go with Steve Rogers."

"I'm glad you think that."

James spoke. "If it does inherit the serum, what kind of things can we expect to see?"

"Now you're asking the good questions. Well, the first thing you will notice is a rapid growth in height, almost an overnight change."

* * *

Harry grasped onto the side of the bench, desperately trying to keep his balance. Every step he took left his head feeling dizzy and fuzzy, like someone had stuffed cotton between his ears. It felt like someone had shoved a crowbar under his skin and was forcing him to grow. He could feel his body stretching outwards and upwards, an incredibly uncomfortable sensation that left him feeling disoriented and the smallest bit panicky.

He didn't know what was happening to him. Every step he took was one into the unknown realm, a realm where there was no rhyme or reason. How could he be growing? Even in the wizarding world this wasn't a possibility. He'd long since ruled out the possibility of it being a prank from Ron or George.

Sweat began running down his neck in rivulets, mixing with the tears somehow leaking out of his eyes. Both were beyond his control. Why did everything seem like it was beyond his control? If fate were person, Harry was sure that he would have been its plaything.

Unable to take it on his own anymore, Harry grabbed his wand and turned on his heel, instantly being sucked into a compressing vortex. It probably wasn't the best decision, as the pain that ripped through his body was beyond anything he'd ever felt. A thousand white hot knives were being stabbed into his skin, while monsters with razor sharp claws slashed and tore at his insides. He landed on the floor of Ron and Hermione's little house biting his tongue, refusing to scream out.

Heavy footsteps reached his ears, but Harry could barely hear them through the rain wracking his body. It was all he could do to not let go on consciousness right there and then, to hold onto it. He vaguely registered arms dragging him upwards and onto a couch, a pillow gently being placed under his head, which lolled to the side. That didn't matter, though. His entire world was pain.

"―rry! Harry!" Hermione's frantic voice, muffled by agony, punctured the haze. "Harry!"

Violent shivers tore through his body, and he wasn't sure if he was trembling from the pain or is someone was grabbing his shoulders and shaking him around. He didn't know which one was a preference. Both of them felt like he was a small item being tossed around in a particularly enthusiastic washing machine.

_Stop!_

"Stop!"

And suddenly, the shaking and shivering ceased, so abrupt that Harry had to question if it was even happening in the first place.

"Harry!"

He cracked his eyes open and his entire vision was bombarded by Hermione. Well, more like he was bombarded by Hermione's bush of hair. She was kneeling down right next to him, her face inches from his. A stutter ran over his heart, before calming down. Hermione was here, and Ron was hovering in the background. Maybe they would be able to help him find out about what the Hell was going on with him.

After the pain subsided, of course.

"Are you alright? What happened?" There is was. The questions began.

Wincing, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, not unaware of how his body felt substantially heavier than it did before. His limbs felt longer, out of his control, like a lanky baby giraffe attempting to walk for the first time. "I'll be alright soon."

"That's good." Ron flopped down onto the couch next to him, chucking a fluffy blanket onto his lap. Harry just stared at it, having no idea what to do with it. Hermione frowned at both of them before spreading it out over Harry, ignoring his weak protests. "Just keep it on, mate. She's become obsessed with blankets lately."

"They help when you're sick."

"Well, it's making me overheat." The sweat on his forehead increased, not that Hermione seemed to notice. Harry shrugged the blanket off, bundling it up and giving it back to Ron.

"Okay, you don't like the blanket, I get it," Hermione huffed. "But what happened to you? When you got here you were screaming. And not a little, fake one too. It sounded like your nightmare screams. Oh, sorry." She was silenced by a sharp glare from Harry, his eyes suddenly cold. "Okay, let's not talk about that. What happened."

"Ron, could you stand up, please?"

"Why?"

"Just do it, please."

Ron stood, clearly puzzled. Harry followed, struggling slightly with the nausea in his head. At first, he was slouching, but when his back straightened, he was at least three inches taller than Ron. And Ron was _tall. _

"Now do you see my problem? I've grown a foot over night!" Ron was gazing up at Harry―and wasn't that a strange thing to see―with startled eyes, mouth agape and arms limp at his sides. He reminded Harry of a particularly startled codfish. "I can barely walk without tripping over my own feet, and everything is tiny!"

"I….How?" asked Ron. "This is impossible."

"Well, we all know Harry, don't we?" chuckled Hermione. "The impossible has never applied to him." She walked next to him. "I don't even reach your shoulder! This is incredible." His pain seemed to have completely slipped her mind. So, when she grabbed onto his arm to examine it, causing him to give a sharp hiss of discomfort. Regret flittered across her features, but it was warring with her usual curiosity and fascination.

Harry sat back down, head spinning. It was good thing he sat down, too. If he hadn't, he would have collapsed right there and then. "I have no idea what's happening to me." Even to himself, his voice sounded broken, a shadow of his usually jubilant tone.

"Nor do we." Hermione and Ron sat down on either side of him. It was the first day his appearance had changed all over again, them comforting him and Harry breaking down. "We'll find out though. You're not alone in this." She bit her lip, looking slightly guilty.

"Just say it."

"Is there anything else that has happened with this growth spurt?"

* * *

"Well, that isn't exactly bad," James said.

"I did say that there was only good news today, remember, James."

"Yeah, I know."

Lily cut in, before her husband became a fully fledged worrywart again. "What else may happen?"

"Well, as you know, the serum gave Steve Rogers superhuman strength. I think, if it manifests in your child at all, that it won't be as potent, but it will definitely be stronger than the average human. If I had to hazard a guess, I would put it at around three quarters of Steve Rogers's strength if it's a male and half if it's a female."

"So, how strong are we talking?"

"Quite strong." Lily raised an eyebrow at the half truth. Dr. Hannigan winced. "Okay, freakishly strong, even if it's diluted."

Lily nodded in satisfaction.

* * *

"No, not that I know of. I'm still trying to deal with the fact that I grew a bloody foot overnight!"

"I understand." She paused for a minute, before her eyes lit up with a fire fueled by curiosity. Harry found himself gulping and trying to disappear into himself. Unfortunately, because he was now the tallest in the room by far, that was impossible. It didn't stop him from feeling like a turtle without a shell, though.

"Should I be a bit worried?"

"Yep," was Ron's succint reply.

Hermione glared at them in mock offence. "You'll be fine. I do have a few theories that I would like to test out, if you're up for it. Best to do it now, while the changes are still taking place, I think. Also, don't perform any major magic while this," she flapped her hands around his whole body, "is going on. Especially apparating."

Harry gave a dry chuckle. "I learned that one for myself the hard way. I won't be doing it any time soon, don't worry."

"Are you up for it?"

"Yeah, sure. Nothing huge, though. I still feel a bit wobbly." True, he was leaving out the fact that his bones ached and his muscles felt like someone had used a hammer to crush them. No matter. There was no need to worry Hermione and Ron further. He certainly didn't want to put a damper on their engagement with his achey bones.

"Okay." She clapped her hands together, eyes gleaming with undisguised ambition. All of a sudden Harry felt like a rabbit, while Hermione was a deadly, dangerous snake. "Harry, you stay right there. Ron, please go and get my notebook from my desk. Be snappy about it." Ron shot off like someone had sent a stinging hex at his backside, disappearing into Hermione's study. He'd moved into her place, as Hermione refused to live in the Burrow, as much as she loved the haphazardly cobbled together home.

Oh, if there was one thing they were both very familiar with, it was Hermione's ice cold frustration when things went wrong with her studies, homework and theories. When things went wrong, she tended to stew, eyes flicking about and mind working a million miles a minute until she came up with a plan to solve said problem. Best to just do what she said and hope for the best, that they wouldn't be coming out the other side completely changed people. It hadn't happened before, but the two of them never took any precautions.

Harry stayed on the couch while Hermione also disappeared into her study. She soon returned with a small beaded bag, similar to the one she carried during the war, save for the fact this one was a light violet instead of a dark purple, and the strap that went around her shoulder was a braided leather. She tapped it with her wand and put it down on the ground.

To say Harry was puzzled was an understatement.

As Hermione began speaking, Ron returned and handed her a small leatherbound notebook. A quill jumped out of it and began flitting around in the air, ready to record everything that was being written.

"I want you to try and lift that."

"It's got a feather light charm on it?" Harry was beginning to think that Hermione had gone mad.

"Yes, I know. Just lift it."

"I don't see how this is going to help."

"It just. _Just lift it." _Her eyes were beginning to narrow dangerously.

So, even though Harry couldn't see the point of it, he stood and picked the bag up by its strap. It was slightly heavier than he was expecting, weighing around the same as a large container of yoghurt. He slung it around his shoulder and shrugged.

"Yeah, it's a normal bag. What was the point of getting me to lift it?"

He then noticed how Hermione was absolutely slack jawed, her eyes bugging out. He didn't know what was so amazing about picking up a bag, but knowing Hermione, there was something about it she had hidden from him.

"I spelled it so it weighed half of its actual weight, Harry," she said slowly. Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.

"And how much is that?"

The answer was a whisper. "Two hundred kilograms."

Both of them were silent, Hermione in contemplation and Harry in shock, his mind understandably blank. Then, it was shattered when Ron let out an impressed whistle and began clapping slowly, clearly impressed.

So much for weighing the same as a normal container of yoghurt, Harry thought in complete and utter exasperation.

* * *

"Is there anything else?" asked James, now quite enthralled with the serum, even if he didn't understand how it worked, nor how the muggles from fourty years ago were able to make something so...amazing. There really was no other word to describe it. Maybe he should start learning more about the muggle world and what they were capable of. It was thanks to them that he was having a child, after all. And were the tales Lily had told him about travelling to the moon really true? He'd thought they were just that, tales, fantastical stories, but now he wasn't so sure.

Dr. Hannigan gave them a knowing smile. "Yes, there are many other things. Would you like me to list them off?"

"Yes, that would be nice, thank you," said Lily.

"Well, you're going to be here a while, so you might want to get out the popcorn." He only received blank stares. "Maybe tea?" Now the couple in front of him was just confused. Dr. Hannigan sighed. "Alright, let's start again. The next things that will manifest are sharp relfexes, along with excellent agility, both of the mind and body.

"Just how sharp are we talking?"

"Well, say someone tossed a knife at you. Would you be able to catch it?"

"Of course not. That's a ludicrous question." Lily's common sense won through, but wonder was seeping in. Just what would her child be capable of if this serum kicked in?

"Well, your child would be able to."

* * *

"Mate, that's bloody awesome!" exclaimed Ron, rushing over. He took the bag off Harry's shoulder and it instantly plummeted to the floor, landing with a loud 'crunch!' He tried to yank it off the floor, but it didn't budge. He laughed in disbelief. "This is great!"

"I guess so." Thought his tone sounded morose and let down, Harry was actually feel quite intruiged by what was happening to him. He wouldn't quite call it excitement, more like a creeping curiosity that would slowly overtake him, like the idea of teaching the DA back in his fifth year at Hogwarts. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe, for once, his exponentially bad luck would be useful for something other than getting him into shitty situations.

"Stop messing around," chided Hermione. She tied her hair back, causing it to look like a brown bush was exploding out the back of her neck. Her eyes were bright now. Oh, dear. She was completely consumed by what Harry liked to call the 'research fervor.' There was no stopping her now. She handed her notebook to Ron.

He watched in morbid fascination as she walked into the kitchen, towards the knife block. With a scraping noise, she took one out and tapping it with her wand. A feeling of foreboding crept up Harry's back. Exactly a second later, the knife was rocketing through the air towards him, a deadly projectile. His hand snapped up and caught it by the handle, a subsconscious reaction. The gleaming blade was an inch from his face, the sharp point quivering, almost begging to be released. Harry chucked it onto the table and rounded on Hermione.

"Why in Merlin's name did you do that?" Harry shouted. "You could have stabbed me in the head!" Hermione waved a hand non-dismissedly, already focusing on something else.

"Oh, hush. The blade was completely blunted. The worse it would have done is give you a bad bruise." She ignored the indignant noise that escaped from Harry. "Besides, there's nothing like fear to get you moving." She sauntered over to Ron and snatched the notebook back, scribbling something down with the squirming green quill.

"Well, that's what you think, isn't it?"

"Yes it is."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"Then don't say anything at all. I'm not done yet." She grabbed her wand and pointed it at a plain wooden chair sitting quite sadly in a corner. It was the one piece of furniture in the apartment that didn't really have a purpose. The rest was all cosy and well made, while that chair just seemed...wrong. She swished her wand in a complicated pattern, performing a non-verbal spell. The movements seemed familair, and it wasn't until the chair began changing that he knew where he'd seen it before.

The wooden chair began morphing, melting into a shape that vaguely resembled a human. Harry's eyes widened as it rushed towards him, arms outstretched and ready to hit him.

* * *

"Surely, that's all."

"There is one more thing."

"There can't be."

"Well, there is. And this is the most important one. The serum amplifies a persons qualities. So be sure to raise your son well, else it will not turn out well for you."

"We already had plans to raise our child well." Lily's voice had gone slightly frosty, though she did understand the gravity of the situation. Truth be told, she was feeling a little bit lost. Those things that Dr. Hannigan just listed of could be her child. Her own little bundle of joy could become almost superhuman. Emphasis on could.

James noticed her predicament, and they decided to leave, bidding farewell to Dr. Hannigan, who gave them a cheery wave. Before their child was born, they met a few more times to discuss little technicalites, but that was the one meeting that stuck in their minds.

Unfortunately, they would never have the chance to raise their son and see the incredible, selfless, kind man he would become.

* * *

A battered Harry lay on the floor, breathing hard, the remains of the wooden dummy spread out around the floor. His mind was whirling, his body zinging with energy and adrenaline. Somehow, he'd known the right moves to defeat the dummy's attacks, recognised patterns in the fighting of his enemy and had moved to block them. It was like he'd been living his entire life with a burlap sack over his head, and only now had it been removed. He saw things clearly, quickly and effciently, able to deduce the right move in record time.

He laughed out loud.

Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. he knew exactly what had happened now, and it was all about the Super Soldier Serum that ran through his biological father's veins. Even without glancing at Hermione, he knew she had come to the same conclusion. Judging from the frantic scribbling of her quill, she was probably writing the order of which she was going to research specific topics and ideas. _Typical Hermione. _

Still chuckling, he hauled himself to his feet. A small trail of dried, crusted blood ran down his face, from where the dummy had landed its first and only hit. He could feel it when he turned his head to the side, the blood cracking. With a smile and mock salute at his two friends (which Ron returned and Hermione didn't even notice) Harry found his way to the bathroom, where he knew Hermione kept the first aid kit. If the injury was any more serious, he would have fixed it with magic. A small nick didn't need magic. A simple tissue and some pressure would be fine.

When he reached the bathroom, Harry stopped dead. The person in the mirror was like a stranger. Their face was more filled out, the gaunt cheekbones making way for nice, filled out ones. The blood on his temple made him look...older. More experienced. He would even caution the use of the word badass. Holding his arms out revealed that they were covered in sinewy muscle, his frame lithe and strong, quick as a whip and two times more resilient. As quick glance down his shirt and he saw a well toned stomach. His legs were the same, well shaped and looking better than they ever had. A grin crept over his face.

Well, this bout of 'bad luck' certainly wasn't something he was going to complain about.

* * *

Meanwhile, in London, a small child licked a letter covered in balloons shut and gave it to his mother to send off to one Harry Potter.

* * *

_Whew, this one was a bit longer. I like it though, especially the balance of past and present. I really enjoyed writing it. Well, now you know what is happening, at least. Can you guess who the small child at the end is? He's appeared in the story before, and will have a fairly significant role in this portion of the story. Don't worry, Steve will be coming into the story. I'm just not sure when. I've got some vague plans, though, so don't fret too much._

_I'm going to aim for a chapter every two days. The once a week thing really isn't working for me. _

_Also, thank you to all who have read and reviewed, followed and favourited. We have reached an incredible 63 reviews in under a month, which is simply astounding. Every time I look at the screen I do a slight double take. So, once again, from the botton of my heart, thank you._

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	13. The Letter from Gabriel

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

"Hermione! You can stop now!" Harry pulled himself to his feet, absolutely exhausted. Around the flat were the remnants of her testing fervor, bits of woods, cubes of ice, a smashed up chess board (which made Ron quite upset, seeing as he adored the game) and several sharp objects. His skin was bruised and battered, even though he now seemed to heal quicker. Hermione hadn't noticed this yet, so Harry was going to keep that one to himself. He didn't need her rushing at him with sharpened kitchen utensils, nicking his skin to see how fast he healed.

"I'm nearly done, Harry. Have some patience." She raised her wand and moved it in a complicated gesture. Furniture began flying towards him at an alarming rate, bashing into him when he didn't move quick enough. Sure, he could move quick, but not so quick that he could avoid a dresser zooming towards him faster than a speeding car. Through all his dodging and ducking, Harry managed to extract his wand from its holster and yell:

"_FINITE INCANTATEM!" _

The malevolent furniture crashed to the floor, splintering and cracking. The awful smashing of china plates finished off the out of tune orchestra. Harry panted, aching all over, hair slicked back against his forehead. Relief at all manner of objects not flying at him was overpowering.

He turned around to face Hermione, who was looking rather put out. "I said, that's enough. We've been going at it for two hours. I'm sore, hungry, and to be honest, quite pissed off." He truly was. Then again, anyone would be if they'd had their reflexes tested in increasingly deranged ways for two hours. "I just want to go home and sit down with my cat."

"But….you can't just go! I'm not done yet. There are so many more things that I need to test." She peered closer at her notes. "Like the speed of your healing factor." Harry paled. Hermione grinned. In the background of the ruined apartment, Ron (who was currently encased in a protective bubble) winced. "You thought I hadn't noticed? Shame on you. You should know by now that I notice everything."

"I'm just going to go, okay?" He gathered himself up, raking his hair back and straightening his shirt, which was still several sizes too small. He would have to go out and get some new ones. Sure, he could always magically alter the clothes to fit his new stature. The only problem with that particular solution was that Harry wasn't quite adept with clothing spells. The last time he'd altered a shirt, it had somehow ended up neon pink and so large that it could be called a circus tent. He wasn't keen to repeat that incident.

"Fine," huffed Hermione. "But you come back here in a few days, got it? I've got some more things to test." At the moment, Hermione resembled a mad scientist. Her hair was sticking up like she'd stuck a finger inside a socket, her eyes were wide, gleaming with the thirst for knowledge, her fingers were tapping an impatient tattoo on the table, her notebook was overflowing with scrawled results and possible conclusions to all manner of questions.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," Harry said halfheartedly. A sharp glare was sent his way. "Yeesh, I will be. Just promise you won't throw any more furniture at me. That got old very, very fast." He walked towards the door. Hermione was scary when she was after sometimes. It had only become more intense with age. It didn't matter that he was now an entire foot taller than her, or that she was quite small. Her fierce attitude was scary enough to make even ravenous tigers flee for safety.

"Oh, there will be no more of that. I have other things planned."

At the grin she sent his way, Harry gulped and booked it out of the apartment, catching a taxi back to his own due to the way he reacted to apparating mere hours ago. That pain was not something he was eager to experience for a second time.

* * *

When a very weary Harry opened the door to his apartment, the last thing he expected to see was a letter sitting on his doormat. A few days prior, he'd finally set up mail wards that only let in mail from people he knew. It wasn't that he didn't like receiving mail from people who told him how much he inspired them. Those were quite lovely. The problem was the unsolicited mail, the hate mail, the sheer volume of letters that came through his window. Not to mention, with that many owls he was always having to clean up after them…

Curiously, Harry picked the letter up, kicking the door shut with his foot. He kicked it a bit hard, making it slam shut and rattle the doorframe. Harry winced and sent a silent apology to his neighbours.

The writing on the front of the letter was clearly that of a child, all uneven and lopsided. Hand drawn balloons, coloured in blue and green crayon, surrounded the writing. Harry couldn't think who would send him a letter like this that would get through the wards. It wasn't near his birthday, either, so he was left wondering what on Earth was going on.

After making a steaming cup of tea and sitting down at the dining room table, Harry opened the letter, being careful not to rip the envelope in shreds. It did tear slightly, as per usual, but compared to his usual lack of finesse, it was a triumph.

The letter itself was much neater, almost as if the parent had been specifically instructing the child on how to write and what to write. The same style of balloons were carefully drawn around the edges, creating a bright, cheerful border. Harry began reading the letter.

_To Mr. Potter._

_In two weeks I am turning nine. I am having a party and would love it if you would come. My friends will be so amazed when they see how much you look like Captain America. There will be plenty of food. _

_RSVP by the 7th of September. _

_Sincerely,  
Gabriel._

A phone number was enclosed down the bottom, along with a smiley face sticker and an address. Harry bit his lip. He remembered Gabriel from the library, months ago, when the revelation of not being James Potter's biological son had still been fresh in his mind. The smile of the hyperactive child still stuck with him, the picture of pure happiness. Add to the fact that Gabriel had no idea about him being a wizard (due to the fact that the letter came through the slot in the door) and Harry was very tempted to go. Maybe, just this once, he would make an exception for the impossible child who seemed to go past every barrier he had erected.

Before he could change his mind, Harry downed his tea. He threw on a sweatshirt and the first shoes he found, which were a pair of ratty old sneakers, carefully put the letter in his pocket and left the apartment to find a phone. He didn't have one in his apartment. There wasn't really a reason outside of that he didn't see the need for one up until now. Maybe he would go and get one another day. Yes, that could come a lot in handy in the future.

Just before he opened the door, Harry hesitated. Should he put the glamour up? He wasn't sure if it would react badly with him. He could perform spells just fine, but when they were directed at himself, things didn't seem to go too well. The words of Dr. Hannigan echoed through his head all of a sudden.

'_You'll be running away from the truth forever, never facing up to your fears. You can't keep doing that, because one day all of your running away from the truth is going to catch up with you.'_

And in that moment, Harry decided that for the first time he was going to go out in public without his glamour. Devoid of fear and completely at peace with what his life had become, he would march out there and own everything he did. For though his life had become different, he was going to make the most of that different, because sulking away was a thing of the past.

With a spritely skip in his step, Harry locked his apartment and set a jaunty course towards the nearest public payphone. He smiled at several strangers and felt a strange urge to whistle a happy little tune. Everything was going right for him. Not because things had fallen into place for him, but because Harry had decided to take charge of his own life and make the pieces fall into place.

The lightness he felt was something that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was the feeling of utter peace. In turn, that made him happy. All thanks to a letter from an eight year old boy who wanted him to come to a birthday party. The least Harry could do now was go, as a thank you to the little boy who made him realise that he could make things better for himself.

After ten minutes of wander, Harry found a phonebooth. He stepped inside, placed a coin in the slot and dialled the number. He may not be excellent with technology (using a television and a radio didn't count) but he was sure that finding his way around a phone would be easy enough. If it didn't work, Harry had no qualms about asking a stranger for help. He was just in that mood today.

The phone dialled a few times before getting picked up. A woman with a raspy voice answered, a raspy voice that Harry had heard before. He had the right number, which was always a good start.

"Hello, Grace speaking." Harry smiled. She had a nice name and sounded friendly. From what he could remember of her, which wasn't much, she was quite friendly, a natural mother and liked to carry around a camera to record every moment she spent with her son Gabriel.

"Hi, this is Harry Potter. I'm calling about the invitation Gabriel sent to me about his party?" There was a slight pause on the line, before Grace hesitantly spoke.

"What's your answer?"

"I am going to come. I don't see how I couldn't. Gabriel is just such a nice kid."

"Oh, thank you so much. I've been going mad the last few days waiting for your answer. Gabe can be incredibly impatient when he wants to." She chuckled fondly. "You're really sure that you're able to come?"

"Of course. I wouldn't tell you I could come then not turn up. That's just rude."

"Thank you, thank you." The relief in Grace's voice was amazing to hear. It made Harry's heart feel just that bit lighter. Not only was he making Gabriel happy, but he was taking stress of a parents shoulders. Suddenly, there was joyful screaming coming from the other end of the phone. "Sorry, I'll be back in a minute." Harry waited patiently, listening with slight interest as Grace tried to get Gabe to calm down. She returned a minute later. "As you can hear, he's ecstatic that you're coming."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"There is just one thing that I would like to talk to you about, Harry." Grace's voice suddenly went quite serious.

"Yes?"

"Gabe's Uncle Gary, my brother, will be coming as well. He's completely obsessed with Captain America. I would be careful around him, due to your uncanny likeness. He's been known to get...personal with his obsession."

"I...thank you?" He wasn't quite sure why Grace felt the need to tell him about this Gary character. He could appreciate it, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be puzzled.

"You're welcome." Another loud noise came from the phone, this time reminiscent of something smashing. Harry cringed as Grace let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go. Gabe's being a little menace again." Though she sounded very annoyed with Gabe, there was a note of affection in her voice. "We'll see you in two weeks, okay?"

"Yep, see you then."

"And thank you, again. Gabe's going to be so happy. Bye now!"

"Bye."

When Harry lay down to sleep that night, he was able to drift off with a blissfully empty mind, not regretting a single thing he'd done that day, not regretting the discovery of his new body or how he'd dealt with it.

Maybe things were going to turn out alright after all.

* * *

Two weeks later, Harry stood on the doorstep of a very nice house with a present tucked under his arm. He really wasn't sure what to get Gabriel, so he'd settled on a shirt with a graphic print of the captain's infamous shield. It had been slightly difficult to procure, but he had it, and was happy with the gift.

He was about to knock on the door when he heard someone crunching down the gravel path behind him. He turned around and saw a man with well groomed black hair and pale, clear skin walking towards him, a large box tucked under his arms. He seemed to be lost in thought, humming a little tune to himself, until he saw Harry standing there. He took Harry in for a second and then his eyes lit up in sheer astonishment and excitement.

"Oh my God! You look exactly like Steve Rogers!" He fumbled with the box, placing it on the ground and smoothing his hair back. In a few seconds, he'd gone from extremely put together to quivering with nerves. "Gary Armand at your service, Gabriel's uncle. Honoured to meet you." He zealously stuck out his hand. Harry tentatively shook the hand. In the end, he had to rip it away from Gary's enthusiastic handshake.

"Uh, hi, I'm Harry Potter."

If it was possible, Gary's eyes went even wider.

"Wait, you're the Harry Potter my wife has been reporting on? I'm even more honoured now!" Gary's face seemed to be split in two. He now saw why Grace thought it was prudent to warn him about this obsessive little man. "Can I just say, I disagree with a lot of what she's been printing? I think you're magnificent. And the fact that you are the spitting image of Captain America is amazing. I think we're going to become wonderful friends, don't you? I can't wait to talk to you? You don't mind if I do, do you? Of course you don't, I'm being silly. Come on, let's go inside!"

And then it hit him

Gary _Armand._ A wife who reported on him? He was married to Genevieve Armand, the current bane of his existence.

Of course.

Did his bad luck ever end?

* * *

**Please take the time to read this message and consider what I have to say.**

_There is something that I would like to address. Last week, on the 15th of March, there was a devastating shooting at the Al Noor Mosque in Christchurch, New Zealand. My country. Fifty innocent people were slaughtered because of their religion. This act of terror has shaken my country to our core. I would like you to take what I write here to heart._

_It doesn't matter what your religion is. It doesn't matter what God you believe in. You are safe. You are home. You shouldn't have to fear for your life because of your beliefs. There may be people out there who hate you, who yell at you and spit at you, but know that the people who love you far outnumber those who hate you. _

_As Salaam Alaikum (peace be unto you),__  
Mariadoria_


	14. Gathering of Giggling Gerties

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

Just as Gary Armand was about to do what Harry recognised as the 'fan freak-out,' (face gaining a bright red undertone, eyes shining like a maniac, hands shaking with anticipation) the front door opened. The pretty, heart shaped face of Grace Armand peeked out, smiling. The smile soon turned to a frown when she spotted Gary looking like he was going to explode. Harry had never been so happy to see someone before.

"Grace, hi," he said quickly. "Do you mind if I come in?" She smiled at him, clearly hearing the desperation in his voice. No matter how well he knew how to deal with fans, they were still scary when they were obsessed. Gary was beyond obsessed it seemed, which made Harry a little wary of him.

"Of course, Harry. Go on through to the lounge, you can't miss it. It's full of bright banners and presents." Harry gave her a grateful nod and slipped through the door behind her. Gary tried to barge through, but Grace blocked his way. "Gary, I want to talk to you for a minute, okay? Harry, if you could leave us alone."

"Sure." He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Thank you." She nodded discreetly at him, then turned back to Gary and began chastising him. At least it seemed someone in the Armand family had the screw nice and tight, rather than loose. The thought was comforting.

The area he was standing in was a small space, with dark, plush carpet and light coloured walls. Already, the photo frames dominated the walls, screaming of family and love. The skylights above him let in a lot of light, giving the house a modern but natural feeling. He began walking down the hallway, examining the photos on the walls with interested eyes. Every single one of them held a picture of Gabriel, from when he was the tiniest toddler to a young boy. In each of them, he was smiling, his dark eyes twinkling with glee. Harry couldn't help but notice that there were no photos of him when he was a baby. That confirmed the theory he had about Gabriel being adopted.

At the end of the hallway, the space opened up into a large, airy room filled with natural lights. Every surface was covered in bright coloured streamers, banners, stickers and various party ornaments. The sense of direction with the decorations was completely nonexistent. It created a strange, charming effect, though. Harry couldn't help but feel happy. If he ever had children, he would want to throw parties like this. Around the corner was the kitchen. Trays upon trays full of delicious looking food were covered with tea towels and glass plates. Everything seemed to be there.

Everything but the children, who were suspiciously missing.

Harry walked over to the table with the gifts on it and placed his own down within them. As he put is down, he heard a tiny whisper, then a hushed, 'shhh!' He whipped around, eyes narrowed. Something strange was going on. Somehow, there were several small children concealed around the room, hidden from his view. He wasn't sure what they were planning. Maybe he should play along...if that was what they wanted. To say Harry was unsure was an understatement. The only experience he had with small children was when they came to Fortescue's. It was quick, they were in and out.

He was totally clueless.

Maybe he should take the horror movie approach? He wasn't sure what little kids were capable of when they put their minds to it. Ah, what the Hell. He would have some fun with it. Why shouldn't he? It did seem like they were waiting for him to do something, what with the constant shushing of voices and little squeaks that sounded throughout the room.

"Hello?" He cautiously walked through the room. "Is anyone there?" No response except a rogue giggle and another urgent shushing. "Hello? I know you're there. Are you going to come out and face me?" For a moment, silence. Nothing by the silence that came before something happened, the silence that made the air heavy with raw anticipation. Harry breathed it in.

Then, a war cry composed of several young voices. Children started pouring out of every nook and cranny, surging towards him. They came out of the cupboards, the doors banging open, from under the couch, slithering out like snakes, one even exploded out from under the beanbag, which went flying towards Harry. They were carrying cardboard shields, swords made out of rolled up newspapers and magazines, pots and pans masquerading as helmets perched on their heads. Clearly, they'd prepared for this moment. A planned ambush. If Harry weren't a currently the victim of said ambush, he would be impressed.

Unfortunately, there were several small children banging at his legs with newspaper swords, all yelling at him.

"Down with the enemy!" cried Gabriel, who emerged at last, from behind the couch. He pointed his sword at Harry. "We will defeat you!" He charged, sword raised, ready for the attack. Harry tried to dodge, but was held in place by several limpets attached to his legs, weighing him down. Gabriel used the sword to strike him in the chest. Harry, now playing along, acted as though he was mortally wounded.

"No! You shall not take me down today! This can't be happening!" Gabriel struck him again with his newspaper sword, this time in the leg. Harry fell down to the ground, laying on his back, looking up at the faces of at least ten children. "I will not fall today!"

"Victory!" crowed Gabriel, reminding Harry of Peter Pan. "We have defeated him!" The other children cheered, almost deafening Harry. Gabriel looked sideways at a small girl with blonde hair, who nodded. Harry gulped. Whatever they were planning now didn't seem to be good.

It wasn't.

To Harry's utter dismay, the children began leaping on top of him, creating a dogpile. The weight didn't really bother Harry. It was more the squirming mass of bodies intent on kicking him in places that weren't meant to be kicked. And it hurt.

"Keep him down!"

All of the little leprechauns of top of him were giggling like mad. Harry couldn't help himself. He began laughing too, which seemed to shock everyone. Not for long, though. They devolved into one large giggling mass of children and adult. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a fun time.

"Alright, what's going on here?"

Everyone froze. Including Harry. He may be nineteen, but that didn't mean he was immune to the reprimands of a teacher. Of course, Grace had to be a teacher. He could tell from her tone alone.

"Nothing, Mum," Gabriel said quickly.

"Well, it doesn't look like nothing. Why don't you get off the young man and let him breathe? You must be suffocating him by now."

Nobody moved.

"I'm fine, really," said Harry, hoping to fix the situation. "It doesn't bother me."

"How can it not bother you? You must be getting crushed. Come on, children, off of Harry. Then you can go and play." They moved off of him so quick Harry had to ask himself whether they were really there in the first place. He pulled himself to his feet and smoothed out his pants.

"I'm fine, really."

"Well, you shouldn't be. Kids, what do you say?"

"Sorry," they all mumbled in unison. Grace couldn't seem to contain her teacher-ness for long, especially on her kid's birthday, so she sighed, placing her head in her hands.

"Off you go." The kids all whooped and began running off, two of them grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him off behind them. For a moment, the more rational side of himself he wondered what on Earth he had gotten himself into and whether it had been a good idea to come. That thought train was swiftly quashed by the more fun loving side of himself, just telling him to let go and have some mindless fun.

And, in that moment, Harry decided that was exactly what he was going to do.

* * *

"What do you want, Grace? I'm sick of you acting like you have to guard me." Gary scowled at his sister, while simultaneously looking at the retreating figure of Harry with hungry eyes."We were getting along just fine."

"He was clearly uncomfortable. How could you not see that?" Grace put her hands on her hips."I'm not letting you in until you promise me you're going to respect his boundaries. He is here because Gabriel invited him, not because you're here. I need you to understand that."

"I know how to respect boundaries, Gracie."

"Don't call me that. You lost the right to do that a long time ago."

"Okay! Gees, calm down." Gary gathered himself up. "I know how to respect boundaries. I will respect Harry's boundaries and not ask him too many questions."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"You're acting like you don't want me here." Grace's eyes lit up with a previously hidden fury. She slammed the door behind her and stepped out to face her brother, grasping the collar of his shirt. She was taller than him, and stronger than him.

"Oh, how did you get that idea, hmmm?" She let go of his collar, but stayed staring at him, eyes dark. "The only reason you're here is because Gabriel asked to see you. If I had my way, I would never see you again, never let you see my kid again. You're lucky that I love him so much, _Gary._"

"I thought you'd forgiven me." Gary smirked as he said it. Grace's hands started shaking from rage.

"I have. That doesn't mean I have to want to see you again." She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Now, Harry is here to play with Gabriel and make him happy, not to fuel your obsession. Do. You. Understand. That? I won't let you ruin another life because you think you're doing the 'noble' thing. You've already ruined mine."

"That's up for debate, really."

"Don't you dare try and act like you were in the right," Grace hissed. Her eyes began pricking with unshed tears. "Don't you dare. You have no right. What you did was despicable and deplorable, and I still hate you for it." She closed her eyes again, a single tear leaking out. "Now, you're going to go in there and be civil. If Gabriel asks you to play with him, you will, but I will be watching your every move. If he doesn't, stay the Hell away from my kid."

"You're such a teacher, with all your rules."

Grace looked up to the sky. "Listen to me. Those rules apply to Harry, too. Don't follow him around and don't bother him." Gary almost pouted, but sighed in resignation.

"I guess I'll have to watch from afar."

"And that is what you're going to do." Grace nodded firmly. The sound of yelling children reached their ears. "One last thing."

"Yes?"

"Genevieve is not coming, is she?"

"You told me to keep her away. So I did."

"Good. I don't want her nosy ass up in my house." Gary made to reply, but Grace glared at him. Sullenly, he picked up the wrapped box and walked into the house with Grace, the picture of confidence.

On the inside, though, he was melting with glee.

Somehow, he was going to find a way around Grace's rules and meet this Harry Potter who bore an uncanny resemblance to one Steve Rogers.

* * *

Harry was dragged into a large room, which clearly belonged to Gabriel. Inside, the carpet was still the dark colour, but the walls differed drastically from the rest of the house. The walls were painted with a stunning landscape, rolling hills, a large lake and a castle perched over the lake. If Harry didn't know better, he would say it was Hogwarts. The castle differed in several places, though, so it was merely similar. Glow in the dark stars were stuck haphazardly onto the ceiling. The bed was a riot of red, white and blue, opposite a bookshelf stuffed to the brim with comic books and figurines. The collection wasn't intrusive, though. It was actually rather endearing. Harry didn't know what made him so fond of Gabriel, but there was something about him that made him unable to say no.

Toys were scattered across the floor. Harry stepped through them, trying to avoid stepping on any. The group of children around him were chattering excitedly. Clearly, they had something else planned, something he was very in the dark about.

"Do you think he'll do it?" asked a boy with brown hair excitedly.

"I don't know. I hope so."

"Do what?" Harry chuckled. These children amused him to no end. He couldn't help but wonder what they had in store for him next.

"Well," Gabriel said sheepishly, twisting his hands, "I was wondering if you would put this on."

Harry blinked. He didn't see anything to put on. "Um, what do you mean?" Gabriel's face went blank for a second, before recognition dawned.

"I don't have it out, yet! Sorry." He ran over to his chest of drawers and grabbed something inside. Harry heard the rustling of plastic packaging. Gabriel turned around and threw something bright to Harry. He caught it and looked down at the parcel in his hands. A groan escaped him, not that he was able to help it.

In his hands, he held a good quality Captain America costume, minus the shield.

"Please?" Harry glanced up at Gabriel, whose face was the epitome of begging, of blackmail via puppy dog eyes. Immediately, Harry went to war with his own head. He was just coming to terms with the facts of his true parentage. He didn't want to put the costume on and act like someone else. Then again, the child in front of him was absolutely adorable (not that he would ever tell Gabriel that, he could imagine the scowls and protests that would result in). Saying no would mean harry would most likely be eaten up by guilt. So, without thinking about it any further, Harry said:

"Sure."

"Yay!" All of the children in the room smiled at him, genuine little smiles with full of gaps and crookedness. It made Harry feel something strange; it was like he was being heated from the inside. Not in a bad way. Quite the opposite, in fact. The warmth was gentle, kind, a pleasant feeling which made him want to make the gaggle of children even more happy. The feeling wasn't unwelcome.

"I'll just go change in the bathroom. Where is it?"

"Second door on the left," Gabriel gabbled eagerly. "Please be quick."

"I won't be long, okay?" Harry resisted the urge to ruffle Gabriel's hair. He didn't know what was getting into him today. First, he decided to dress up as his very famous biological father, and then he almost ruffled the hair of a child he barely knew. Odd things were going on, and he wasn't sure if he liked them or not. Perhaps he should just let time take its course and see what would happen on the way. Going with the flow never hurt anybody, and maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't hurt him. The awful Potter luck would probably jump in at some point and turn the entire situation awry, but until then Harry decided he was going to enjoy things the way they were, maybe even making them better along the way.

Who knew?

After a bit of looking (all the doors were the same!) Harry managed to find the bathroom, where he could change in privacy. Because of Quidditch, he wasn't normally so squeamish about changing in front of people. When those people were little, hyperactive kids of a sugar rush, he would rather be in a place where they couldn't giggle at him for something he had never even noticed before.

The plastic packaging crinkled loudly as he wrangled with it. How hard was it to get a simple package open? Apparently, according to the one he was wrestling with now, it was very difficult.

All of a sudden, the plastic tore. The costume exploded out of it, landing haphazardly on the pristine vanity. Harry had to squint because it was so bright at first.

For a few minutes, he just stood there, staring at the tangled mess of over-saturated fabric, trying to come to terms with what he was doing. Some people would call it silly, hesitating to put a simple costume on for a party. They would say he was stupid, considering putting the costume on a big step towards coming to terms with what his life was now. Harry blocked the voices out, instead taking a few tentative steps towards it and picking it up.

Well, from what he could gather, it was going to need some pretty serious extension charms. Great, just great. Of course he would need to (non-verbally) perform the one spell that he was absolutely rubbish at. In a short time period. Hopping around and squeezing into the tight costume, Harry's thoughts were confirmed. With a groan, he extracted his new Maple wood wand out of the holster and crossed his fingers that the spells would go correctly. If not, there wasn't really any way he could reverse them, at least not any way that he knew of, and would have to walk out wearing a mangled mess of fabric. Oh, well. There were worse things he could think of, such as Malfoy becoming interested in a job at Fortescue's. The mere though of it, not that it would ever happen, made him shiver slightly.

"_Fabricae Maior,_" he said in his head. The end of his wand, pointed at the costume stretched to breaking point over his body, flashed a bright white. Silver wisps of light began seeping out, creeping over the surface of the fabric, altering it so that Harry could actually breathe. When he felt it loosening, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least he'd done that part right, and not shrunk it, like that other time that he didn't ever speak of for fear of embarrassing himself again. Just thinking of that particular incident made him flush a brilliant shade of scarlet.

Harry glanced at himself in the mirror and did a double take. The man who was staring back looked exactly like the photos of Steve Rogers. Harry swallowed the sudden knot that appeared in his throat and chastised himself, in a voice that sounded strangely like Hermione. He could do this. It was just a costume. This didn't define who he was, what he was going to do or how he could live. _It was just a costume. _Just because he was wearing it didn't mean he was Steve Rogers, didn't mean he had to be like Steve Rogers. It meant that he was doing something lovely for a kid on his birthday, something that would make Gabriel happy.

Taking a deep breath, Harry strapped the helmet emblazoned with a large white 'A' onto his head and stared at his reflection once more. There was no denying the resemblance now. Even with some of his mother's features mixed in and the strawberry blond tone of his hair, Steve Roger's features were overwhelming in how much Harry could see them.

No.

Not Steve Rogers' features.

Harry's features. They were his own features. They didn't belong to anyone else, no matter how much he looked like that person, no matter how famous that person was. His face was his own. He nodded decisively, bundled up his own clothes from the floor and was about to walk about of the bathroom when a sudden thought struck him.

The shield.

The shield didn't come with the costume. Harry wasn't sure what Gabriel was going to give him, but he had a hunch it would be something like a well painted trash can lid. Well, he thought, I can do better. With a few obscure conjuring spells that he'd learnt for the Triwizard Tournament, he was able to get a circular base, gleaming silver. The colours weren't too tricky to apply afterwards. With a little finessing, he was able to get it looking exactly like the iconic shield. He added some leather straps on the back so as to attach it to his arm and he was done.

One final look in the mirror. Everything was perfect. He'd even modified the costume, so it was more than glorified spandex, giving it a more gritty, realistic look. Somehow, putting the ridiculous costume that would turn him into a walking American flag (quite ironic, considering he was in England) had made him realise that things weren't too bad. That he could live with these changes, make his own way in life. Not that he hadn't been doing that already, but now the belief was solidified.

It was as if he'd moved out of the shadow that Steve Rogers had cast over him, into the light, where things were shiny and optimistic. But then, Steve Rogers had never cast a shadow over Harry, had he? Steve Rogers didn't even know Harry was alive, he wasn't even there to cast a shadow. It had been Harry, bitter and resentful, who had cast the shadow, wanting someone to blame for how his life had been tipped on its head. He was out of his own shadow, living in sun.

And with that, Harry opened the bathroom door, ready to step out, only to be met with the blinding flash of a camera, causing him to stumble and crash to the ground, taking the towel rail and washing basket down with him.

* * *

Gary sat, sullenly sulking on the couch, ignoring the sharp eye that Grace was constantly keeping on him. It pained him to know that Harry Potter, the famous wizard man, was upstairs, looking exactly like Steve Rogers. Why did those kids get to spend time with him? Surely, Harry wouldn't like spending time with little gnats who would only nip at his ankles, only make him mad, only drive him up the wall to the point of hysterics. Why would he rather be spending time with those kids, when Harry could be having a meaningful, insightful conversation with him?

It puzzled Gary how much Harry seemed to want to get away from him. When Grace had defused the dogpile situation, Harry hadn't even spared him a glance, just disappeared, giggling like a ten year old girl. He'd let himself be dragged away by those tiny...annoyances. Even little Gabriel. In this situation, Gabriel was an annoyance. Just because the boy liked Captain America, didn't mean he could hog Harry. In fact, Gary had introduced Gabriel to Captain America and his story.

Gary thought of the massive box he brought as a present. It was full of some of his most treasured memorabilia, including comics, vintage collectors cards (he'd won the bid in America to some fool called Coulson, who swore he would get his hands on another set) and and rare figurines. Gabriel seemed like he would like the present, so Gary had reluctantly decided to part from them. Now, he wasn't so sure. In fact, he was tempted to keep them for himself, to teach Gabriel a lesson.

He was the biggest fan. He should have first rights to Harry.

Genevieve would know what to do. She would ignore all the boundaries set for her and get what she wanted. She was good at that. She always knew the right questions to ask, knew how to wheedle specific answers out of people, even when they didn't want to. When he had said he didn't approve of what Genevieve did to Harry, that had been a flat out lie. In fact, he admired her immensely, her iron will and quick wit. He just knew from Genevieve's endless ranting that he hated reporters, so he tried to play into his good graces. It hadn't worked, and left Gary feeling more than a little put out.

No matter.

There had to be a way to get Harry away from Gabriel and the mess of chattering gnats. He thought for a few minutes, mulling over different possibilities. Harry, from what he knew, didn't like being threatened or harassed. He also didn't like people sidling up to him and slyly talking to him, trying to force ideas, so he was going to have to find a way around that. Maybe, he should think like Genevieve and find a new way to get his attention every time. That could work. Perhaps, the element of surprise.

Yes, that would work nicely.

"Grace, I'm just going to go upstairs to the bathroom. Surely, you can let me do that much."

"Stay away from my son." She sent one last glare his way.

"Of course." For once, he was going to keep his word. Discreetly grabbing his bag, which contained his camera, he walked up the stairs. His idea was to catch Harry by surprise and get a photo, which could be used for future blackmail. The idea made him smile. Maybe he could be a reporter.

Once upstairs, he peeked into Gabriel's room, where the nuisances were screaming and playing, clearly waiting for Harry to return from wherever he had gone, as he wasn't in the room. The next logical conclusion would be the bathroom, so that was where he headed, silently padding along the carpet.

He was correct in his assumption. The door was locked, with strange white lights coming from underneath the door. Gary himself didn't have magic, that was his wife's side of things, but he could recognise it when he saw it. He knelt down on the ground and peered under the door. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the vibrant colours of the Captain America costume. Immediately, he lay down, desperate to get a better view. He couldn't see much, but his eyes lit up when he saw what looked to be the shield being created.

He saw Harry pull away, walking towards the door. Hastily, he stood and pulled out his camera, readying for the shot of a lifetime. Harry opened the door and Gary pressed down the trigger.

The next thing he saw was Harry tumbling backwards, bringing half of the bathroom wall down with him on the way.

* * *

Harry made a pointed statement to avoid Gary after the incident. It wasn't hard, considering Grace kicked him out, even forcing him to leave the wrapped and labeled present behind. Harry offered to pay for the damages in the bathroom, which Grace accepted, even though it took a bit of convincing. He spent the rest of the day playing with Gabriel, being involved in their games. They even ran down to the local park and roped in some other kids to play with them. Harry managed to wow them with his 'super, duper, super' strength, lifting up four of them at the same time.

All in all, he had a wonderful time. He took the costume off and left it with Gabriel. He used the shield as a second birthday present, which Gabriel was ecstatic about. He jotted down Grace's details so he could reimburse her for the damage in the bathroom. Then, he left, feeling a lot better than he had in a long time, Gary and Genevieve Armand forgotten in favour of their much nicer relatives.

Especially Gabriel. Harry really did have a soft spot for him.

Unfortunately, as was always the case with Harry Potter, his jubilant mood only lasted for two days, before 'the Article' appeared.

* * *

The next day, Harry received the Daily Prophet, as he always did. Everything was going peachy, until he unrolled it and saw the picture on the front cover. Immediately, his mood went stormy. Usually, he could throw off bad rumours. But this, it looked like this was going to be the one to throw him off his groove for a long time.

It was of him, in the Captain America costume, sprawled on the floor of the bathroom. The photo was printed next to one of him in the ice cream shop, when his glamour wore off for the first time, when Harry still thought his cover was infallible. The article was by Genevieve Armand, because of course it was. He groaned, preparing himself for what he was going to find inside the tiny, tiny words all squished onto the front page.

The headline underneath it was as corny as it usually was. It read: "HARRY POTTER NOT WHO WE THOUGHT HE WAS?" Unsure what he was going to find, Harry began to read, not without caution.

_Today, my dear readers, I received a photo from my beloved husband Gary. He'd just come from a party in the muggle world. Surprisingly, Harry Potter was also there. At least, someone who introduced himself as Harry Potter. His voice was the same, as were in mannerisms. The only things that were different were his looks. According to my husband, he was now at least six foot two, with more muscle than before. Now, because I have been a good influence on him, he decided to be the intrepid investigator and find out what was going on._

_Unfortunately, he was only able to snap a revealing photo of Harry Potter after he fell into a pile of towels before he was forcibly removed from the house. This doesn't matter, though. We already have more than enough evidence to find out what is going on with our hero. _

_Three weeks ago, I snapped a photo of Harry Potter as his appearance changed. He seemed shocked about this, becoming very flustered and panicky, ultimately Disapparating away from the scene. I did some research (meaning I showed the photo to Gary and he knew who it was straight away, the darling man) and was able to find out that Harry Potter bore a striking resemblance to Steven Rogers, the muggle war hero from the forties, also known as 'Captain America.'_

_The photo that Gary snapped yesterday features Harry wearing the Captain America costume. This confirms that there is some connection between the two, beyond their uncanny resemblance. I plan to find out what the story behind this is._

_If you see him out and about, in his new appearance or his old appearance, approach him for me, ask him questions, don't relent until you get an answer. We will get to the bottom of this gripping mystery. There are so many theories to discuss, so many questions to ask. Is this new person an imposter? Has Harry been testing out some secret new project, courtesy of the Ministry of Magic and their Department of Mysteries? Is Harry a secret relative of Steven Rogers? _

_It's up to us to find out. I will be writing constant updates to this breaking story, so be sure to keep an intrepid eye on this story, my dear readers._

_Until next time,  
Genevieve Armand._

Harry cursed, throwing the paper onto the other side of the room. Why did these things have to happen to him? It was always him, wasn't it. He stormed over to his bed and flopped down, feet sticking over the end. Being tall was a nuisance when the bed was too small. At the moment, though, he didn't care. At the moment, all he wanted to do was send a few well directed stunners at Genevieve Armand and any reporters who came into his shop. That would teach them a lesson.

Taking a deep breath and trying to not to contemplate the very real consequences that the article would have (to say that there would be no consequences was silly and naive), he fished around in the top draw of his bedside table. A sharp piece of card nicked under his nail. Hissing, Harry withdrew his hand, along with the offending piece of card. He glanced at it while sucking his finger. His eyes widened as he realised what he'd picked up.

It was that small business card that Phil Coulson had given him all those months ago, simply with his contact details, nothing alluding to SHIELD. Harry frowned, glancing down at the card and then back at the wall. He hadn't looked at it since he'd come back from America, merely chucked it in his bedside table and never thought about it since that strange holiday.

Suddenly, the option of contacting Phil Coulson was looking quite attractive, maybe even presenting itself as something that he could possibly do.

* * *

"Do you know where Harry is?" Hermione was sitting on the couch, newspaper on her lap. The pictures of Harry in the costume stared back at was past the point of getting enraged at the articles. She also knew Harry was the same. Now, she was just mildly amused, with the smallest hint of annoyance. This time, there was a small bit of worry, but now there were more important things to worry about.

Ron swallowed his mouthful of food, placing the pastry back onto the plate. "No, I don't think so. Why? You don't want to perform more of your experiments on him, do you?" Ron eyed the pastry again. "I don't think he would like that." Hermione snorted when he slowly crept his hands towards the pastry, one of the only foods she could cook to perfection.

"No, but I have got more planned for a few weeks. There are so many more things I want to find out. I―" She stopped herself before she began rambling. That wasn't what she wanted to talk about right now. Clearing her throat, she began again. "I want to know if he's good with children."

"I have no idea if he is. Why would you want to know that?"

"Well, I want to ask him if he'll be our child's Godfather."

Ron stopped for a second, pastry halfway to his mouth. His eyes were staring at her belly, like he expected her to pop at any second. A huge, blinding smile overtook his face, before he fell to the floor in a dead faint, landing with a muffled, 'kerflump.' Hermione smiled at her fiance and placed a caring hand on her stomach.

Things were going well.

* * *

_Woop, new chapter, and slightly longer too. This is the new length I am going for (around 5000) with bi-weekly updates on Tuesday and Saturday. This is thanks to feedback from people on my Discord server. Also, My mojo has returned, so woohoo. Lesson learned? Don't do daily updates. They suck the life out of you! Also, Gary does have a large part in the story, so this chapter was vital to set up his character. It also gave a deeper look into Harry's thoughts and how he's dealing with everything. I don't know how the Armand's snuck in, but here they are. Not for later on, though. More the 'before' stages, prior to 2011._

_A big thank you to _'geekymom' _for giving me the idea of Hermione being pregnant. That's actually going to become quite a large part of the story in the future, so woop! Thank you so much, both for the idea and your lovely reviews._

_If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	15. He Knew It Was Time To Leave

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

It was a bright Wednesday morning when Harry received a letter via owl from Hermione and Ron. His mood was dark, a stark contrast to the light outside. The article from a few days ago weighed heavy on his mind, as did the hundreds of owls banging up against the mail wards that surrounded his home. His neighbours were beginning to get quite suspicious of him and the strange occurrences that tended to surround him.

There was also the decision he'd made the previous day, the one that was going to be almost impossible to tell them. He wasn't sure how he was going to get it out, but he would. He had to, soon.

"What could you be, hmm?" Harry muttered to himself as he tried, and failed, to open with without damaging the envelope. Sighing, he unfolded the letter inside and read:

_Harry._

_We have some great news we would like to share with you. Please come over to our house as soon as you can manage. We can't wait to tell you the good news._

_Hermione and Ron._

The letter was short, but oozed happiness. It spread to Harry a little bit, putting a small smile on his lips.

Well, there was nothing else to do. He would go over to Ron and Hermione's right now, popping right into their living room. Hopefully Hermione wouldn't drop her crockery like the last time he did that. At least this time they were expecting him.

He grabbed his new wand off the dining room table, still getting used to the new, less volatile feeling of his magic when he used it, and turned on his heel. The feeling of apparition, like he was being sucked through a tube several times too small. Thankfully, it didn't last for long and soon Harry was sprawled on the floor of Hermione and Ron's living room.

There was silence, and then Ron's bellowing laugh broke it. Hermione was snickering somewhat, probably at the fairly amusing sight of a six foot two man flashing into their living room, midair, and falling down onto the ground. Harry supposed he would be laughing too, if it wasn't him who was totally inept with magical methods of transportation. Honestly, you would think he was a toddler with how bad he was at it. At first, it was explainable, but now it was, quite frankly, embarrassing.

"So, what am I here for?" He smoothed out his magically expanded pants. Soon, he would have to bite the bullet and go buy some clothes that actually fit him. The amount of times the charms wore off and he was left looking like a competitor in a swimming competition…

"Well, we have some news." Hermione was literally glowing, her smile stretching from ear to ear. It was a type of glow Harry had only seen once before, but he couldn't place where he'd seen it.

"Some great news!" Ron leapt into the conversation. He, too, was glowing. "Come on, sit down." Harry sat down in the spare armchair, which just happened to be quite small, causing him to be bunched up, bar for his limbs which stuck out in awkward directions.

"What is it?" Harry shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. He didn't, so he settled for sitting on the floor, leaning up against the chair. "Come on, spit it out. You're clearly dying to tell me."

Even though Harry didn't think it was possible, Hermione smiled even wider. "I'm pregnant! We're having a baby!"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. Whatever he had been expecting, this was far, far better. "Really? That's fantastic!" He jumped up and walked towards them. "Oh my God, I'm so happy for you?" He drew them both into a huge hug. Hermione squeaked in surprise.

"There's also another thing," Ron said, pulling himself out from Harry's arms. He patted the seat next to him. Harry sat down, beaming like Ron and Hermione, maybe even wider. Words couldn't describe how happy he was for them. In their three year relationship, they had always told him they wanted children. And here they were now, the soon to be parents of a little child. He couldn't believe that their dream was coming true.

"Oh?"

"We would like you to be the godfather."

Harry was so shocked it took him a moment to even comprehend what they had asked him. He blinked blanky, mouth opening and shutting in an impressive impression of a fish. "Come again?"

Hermione shook her head in fond exasperation, eyes glittering like the sunlight through brown glass. "I said that we would like you to be the godfather." So his ears hadn't been deceiving him. They really wanted to bestow that honour on him. He already knew what his answer was. Now he would be the godfather to two adorable little children.

"Of course. How could I ever say no to you?" And, when asked something like this, he just couldn't. Not that he would ever want to. To be honest, he had his own plans, if he ever had children, to ask Hermione and Ron to be the godparents.

"Woohoo!" Hermione cheered. Harry had never heard her say that before. "Oh, there's another thing. Ron, fire away."

"We were going to send you letter, but since you're here, we figured we would tell you now. In a month, we're getting married, and I want you to be my best man."

Harry's day couldn't get any better. "YES! Oh my gosh, this is going to be amazing." Plans for the bachelor party were already running through his head. He was going to make it the most amazing party that the world had ever seen. They wouldn't know what hit them. He opened his mouth to tell them this, but instead, something very different came out.

"There's something I want to tell you too."

"Oh?"

Harry blinked owlishly. That was not what he had been expecting to pop out his mouth.

"No, sorry. That's not what I meant to say."

"Wait," said Hermione. "We've shared some news, so it's only fair you share yours." She smiled softly at him.

"No. This is your time."

For the rest of the day, Harry stayed with Ron and Hermione, learned that they wanted him to be there in his true appearance and theorised on baby names for their child, whatever gender it may be. He was glad he didn't put a damper on their mood with his news. It was their day, their time, he had no right to infringe on it.

Later.

He would do it later.

* * *

It was two weeks before the wedding when Harry finally decided to bite the bullet and tell his two best friends about his decision. He didn't really know how he was going to do it. The conversation was probably going to turn out quite negatively; if there was one thing Harry Potter was known for, it was digging himself into holes. When he found himself with a problem, what he usually found himself doing was creating an even bigger problem that completely neutralised the first.

Nervousness running rampant through him, Harry knocked on their door. Apparating when he was this nervous was never a good idea. It took a while for the door to be answered. Harry heard loud, clomping footsteps running towards it, with Hermione's muffled voice calling after them. The door was flung open, an exhausted looking Ron on the other side. His hair was doing an excellent impression of Harry's when he had the glamour on, which he currently didn't. The bags under his eyes were so dark that from a distance they could be mistaken for particularly bad bruises. Overall, Ron looked like the dictionary definition of a stressed groom. Or, awful. He looked absolutely awful.

For a moment, Harry felt guilty about what he was about to tell them. Should he really be adding to the obvious stress and tension that they were feeling. Perhaps it would be better to leave it for a later date, when they weren't so embroiled in their planning.

No, he chastised himself. If he didn't tell them now, he never would. They knew he was telling them something large. He had their permission to tell them, they didn't mind. He'd made sure of that. If he backed out now, the decision would stay bottled up inside him until it exploded out like a champagne cork.

He was telling them and he was telling them today.

"You look awful, mate." Ron glowered at him, then ushered him inside. Harry's eyes widened at the mess that covered the entire apartment. Towering piles of parchments were everywhere, clothes were laying over every conceivable surface and boxes upon boxes crowded all the available floor space.

"Yeah, no kidding. This planning is driving me loopy. We'll get there." He placed a cushion on a large box and sat Harry down. "Be quick, please. Hermione's gone into a frenzy."

"It isn't a frenzy!" The banshee like screech came from the kitchen. Harry didn't need to see Hermione to know her face was a bright tomato red. "I'm just a bit flustered."

Ron pulled at the collar of his shirt, then smiled in the direction of the kitchen. "Just tell me here, I'll pass it on."

"Okay, here goes." Harry swallowed his fear and spat it out. "After your baby is born I'm moving to America."

* * *

It took a little while for Ron and Hermione to get over the news, but when they did, they were both very understanding. They understood the pressure he was under, the scrutiny that followed his every move. Soon, the morning of their wedding came and Harry found himself standing next to Ron, to the side of the altar, Neville and George standing beside him.

When Hermione walked up the aisle, bedecked in a white gown, hair falling in carefully curled ringlets, the slight bump of her baby showing, Harry couldn't be prouder. There he stood, looking as he truly did, feeling only happiness for his best friends.

Time flew, until the celebrant said, "You may now kiss the bride," and Ron and Hermione did so. The dance was full of happiness, as was the reception.

And in that moment, surrounded by everyone Harry considered his family, Harry felt happy.

* * *

"We want you to choose the middle name, Harry," whispered Hermione, holding her little girl like she was more precious than the world's most glittering jewel. The tiny, tiny person had a tuft of orange hair on her head, with the lightest blue eyes Harry had ever seen. He couldn't believe he was the godfather of such a precious creature. Hermione and Ron had already given her the first name of Winona, a name that made Harry into a total sap. He could already tell that this little girl was going to spoiled beyond belief. And now they were asking him to pick a name?

"I...Evangeline. I really like Evangeline."

"Winona Evangeline Weasley." Hermione's eyes teared up as she gazed upon her slumbering daughter. "It's beautiful. Oh, wow. Look at that, little Winona Evangeline. You've got a name. A beautiful name and a beautiful family." She cradled the tiny bundle and Harry felt his heart melt. This little girl was going to have him wrapped around her little finger.

"Would you like to hold her?" said Ron softly. "You are the godfather, afterall."

Harry took little Winona Evangeline Weasley in his arms and smiled a wet, teary smile.

Maybe his trip could wait a few months. This little girl was far too important to just leave behind.

* * *

When Harry could no longer go out in public without being hounded, asking about Steve Rogers and his story, he knew it was time to leave.

When he became so frustrated that he started shooting off stunners just to get a bit of peace and quiet, he knew it was time to leave.

When total strangers started turning up at his apartment, after somehow tracking down his address, shouting abuse, trying to bang down the door, asking question after question, he knew it was time to leave.

And when Hermione, Ron and Winona bade him a tearful farewell, all but telling him to get out of there, to send them regular letters and visit home often, he knew it was time to leave.

So, he packed his bags and portkeyed to a safe place in New York, put his glamour up and started his new life, finding an apartment, finding a job and enjoying the peace and quiet.

At least until Phil Coulson turned up at his door, wearing his pristine suit and dark sunglasses.

* * *

Gary Armand studied the pictures in front of him. There were four, three of children and one of Harry Potter arriving in America, courtesy of his wife. The first was of was Winona Evangeline Weasley, the angelic daughter of Ron and Hermione. The second was Gabriel Armand, his Harry Potter stealing nephew. The third was his own daughter, Emma Victoria Armand, ten years old, with aspirations to become a doctor.

The thing was, Harry Potter seemed to have a soft spot for children. That much was evident at the party months back, when he dressed up in the Captain America costume because the gaggle of giggling gerties, also known as children, asked him too. He could use this to his advantage.

Soon, Harry Potter wouldn't know what hit him and would be begging to spend time with him.

_Perfect._

* * *

_So, this is a bit shorter. I did initially make it longer, but it didn't flow right, so this is the length I settled on. We're getting closer to the time, skip, too. It's two or three chapters away. Woop woop. Also, we've breached 10o reviews, 700 follows, 400 favourites and 70,000 views. Words cannot express how happy I am. Thank you so, so much. _

_I'm starting a new thing called 'Question of the Chapter.' The question for this chapter is: If you could go to any time period, when would you go and why?_

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	16. Goose

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

When Harry Potter moved to America, the first thing he did was procure an apartment. Thanks to the false papers from the goblins, all made for a hefty sum of course, and the large amount of money sitting in his vault, it wasn't as much of a mission as he'd feared it would be. In his head, nightmare scenarios ran amok, mostly involving psycho real estate agents and, for some unknown reason, swooping crows.

In reality, it was as simple as going on a tour, finding a nice, airy apartment with what would be described as adequate views over a nice part of New York, and buying it. When deciding where to live, New York stood out like a sore thumb, like someone had turned fate into a highlighter and scribbled all over the city. This time, Harry found it hard to complain.

His first few days in New York were complete and utter bliss. He could walk down the street without a worry in the world, no reporter hounding him, no cameras flashing, no angry fans demanding autographs. Just him and the smell of the city which he was quickly coming to love, despite all the angrily honking cars, despite the loud, brash people, especially despite the overcrowding. There was simply something magical (and wasn't that ironic) about the place that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on.

True, he did miss his friends. A small, dull ache, throbbing day and night, found a home in his heart. Regular contact was kept, constant exchanges of letters detailing the smallest of details. Trivial to others, but to Harry they were worth more than gold. Pictures of Winona and Teddy found a way into his wallet, staring up at him every time he took out a note. And that was enough, for now.

After settling down, Harry decided that he would like to have a job. Though he had enough money to sit at home and lounge around all day, cruising and relaxing, the thought didn't attract him one bit. He was far more smitten with the idea of getting out there and working his ass off. Ever since the war, sitting still just wasn't on his agenda. When he did, a funny little itch began working its way up his spine, niggling at the back of his mind, like a piece of dust in his eye he couldn't quite get rid of.

After a little bit of looking, Harry was able to find himself a job as a waiter. It was stressful work, and there was a fairly annoying waitress who constantly flirted with him, but he enjoyed it. It kept him busy, even if some of the customers were complete assholes. Honestly, how hard was it for them to understand that it wasn't his fault there wasn't enough crumb on their fish? No amount of explaining would get them to see reason, that was one thing Harry had found out extremely quickly.

As was his nature, Harry made fast friends with the eccentric man who lived next door to him. His name was simply Magnus, which Harry suspected was a nickname. It wasn't like he would be told otherwise, so he didn't ask. Magus was tall and lanky, thin as a beanpole, looking like some sick wastrel from Victorian times. They watched a lot of movies together, occasionally going on a run. Harry enjoyed the company.

He lived in peace for a month, reveling in the technological wonders of the muggle world, enjoying the bustling night life and the wide variety of food the city offered. The new flavours he was introduced to were simply wondrous, leading to Harry becoming an adventurous eater. There was a point where he stopped, which may or may not have had something to do with a boiled chickens head. Harry would neither confirm nor deny the statement, so no amount of haggling would get him to talk about the disgusting experience.

Unfortunately, that peace was ended when, at nine o'clock in the morning, there was a knock on the door.

He blearily opened his sleep-logged eyes, his body instinctively curling up tighter under warm covers of his bed. He felt like hissing at whoever was disturbing his Saturday morning. There was silence, before the knock sounded again, this time more insistent. Whoever was behind the hand was impatient. _Great._

Harry dragged himself out of bed, throwing on some clothes and shoving his glasses onto his face. Whoever was knocking at the door better have a good reason. To them, it may be a good time, but to him, the time was so early it was evil. Maybe he could just tell them to go away and come back later. That could work. Thanks to the incredibly stupid guests at the restaurant last night, Harry was in a crabby mood. He didn't mind being a bit stingy towards other people right now.

Right before he opened the door, he made sure to throw his glamour up, even though it did feel quite uncomfortable now that he spent a lot of him with his true appearance. It was like being forced into clothes two times two small. In short, he felt like a size four sausage in a size two casing. The difference in height was also slightly disconcerting.

For a third time, the knock sounded. Couldn't they have a mite of patience? With a huff, Harry yanked the door open.

"Do you know what time it is?" he growled, only to catch the next sentence in his mouth before it escaped. Standing in front of him was Phil Coulson, a man who he remembered very clearly. You couldn't exactly forget when a government agency, with a pirate looking spy man as an employee, asked you if you wanted a job.

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I am aware."

Harry placed his hand on his forehead, rubbing it in frustration. He sighed and said, "Yeah, I'm sorry. Customers where I work as assholes." He glanced behind him at his living room, currently in a shambles. With a discreet swish of his wand and a whispered incantation, it quickly cleaned itself up. He turned back to Coulson. "Do you want to come in?"

"I don't remember you being this hospitable last time."

"To be fair, you did interrupt the middle of my trip."

"All a part of the job." Harry stood back and let Coulson into his living room. With the door shut, he followed the sharply dressed man to the couch and sat down, back straight. There was something about Coulson that made him want to present himself in the best way he could.

Harry cleared his throat to break the awkward silence that had fallen. "I presume you're here about the recruiting thing?" All of his more seemed to escape his mind, leaving him with the most basic of words. "I do still have the card."

"You would be right in your assumption, Mr. Potter. When we noticed you moved here, Fury decided that it would be advantageous to ask you a second time to join our agency."

"Wait, you want me to join your agency? As in, full on spy agent?"

"Not quite. That particular position would take years." Coulson's eyes darted about. "If we're going to talk about this, I would rather do it in a secure location. Would you be willing to come with me?"

"Oh, you're actually asking?" The joke fell on flat ears and an unimpressed scowl. "Yeah, okay, I'll go with you. Just give me a few minutes to get ready."

"Of course. We have a car waiting outside, so you won't need to do any of your magic mumbo jumbo."

"It isn't mumbo jumbo."

"To me it is."

All Harry could do was scoff in indignation and hurry off to his room to freshen up. Perhaps the man wasn't such a tightly wound screw after all.

Soon, he returned, in proper clothing, backpack slung over his shoulders. "Alright, let's go, shall we? I'm looking forward to seeing your boss again. Avast!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, avast. Pirate slang for onwards?"

"You are aware that avast means to stop, right?"

Harry's cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet and he hastened out of his apartment, finding the car he was supposed to get into (it was instantly recognisable) and slouching down into the back seat, avoiding eye contact.

So much for being mature.

They rode in silence, much like the last time. Coulson escorted Harry through very similar halls, despite the fact that they were in New York and not Washington. The same door was opened and he was ushered into the same office, where the same man sat behind the same desk.

Harry sat in the same chair and awkwardly smiled at Coulson, who left the room, closing the door with a click.

"So, Mr. Potter."

"So, Fury."

"I see that you decided to come to see us again, despite the adamant refusal that you were never going to see us again."

"I was in a difficult spot last time you talked to me."

"I could tell."

"Of course you could." Harry was about to continue when an overwhelming sense of _wrong_ began creeping up his back. He turned around and saw an innocent looking cat sitting on the carpet, licking its paw. "What's wrong with that cat?"

"Nothing, not unless you look closer."

"Okay, okay," Harry reassured himself that the cat would do nothing. It was just a cat. "What was your offer?"

"I want you to come and work for SHIELD."

"I know that much." He shifted forward slightly. That cat was wrong. "But what kind of job?"

"A Specialist Operative. Your skills with magic would be greatly beneficial to our organisation. I understand that you're taking a break from your hero 'duties' at the moment, yes?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Well, you would be working in a team, here at SHIELD."

"If I didn't come to work for you, what kind of training would I have to go through?"

"You would start at the bottom and learn with the other recruits the necessary skills for the position." Fury raised his chin. "Would you at least consider it? We've had our eye on you for a long time."

"Yeah, I'll do it."

Fury seemed unfazed by Harry's sudden decision. "Good. You start in three days. Tomorrow you will be briefed and given the necessary tests and examinations." He stood. "That cat really does work wonders, doesn't she?"

Harry scowled. "I knew it!"

A few hours later, when Harry was sitting at home, having just resigned from his position as a waiter, he wondered just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

* * *

Ron and Hermione were enjoying a quiet evening, a respite from Winona's constant crying. No matter how much they loved their little baby daughter, she was extremely exhausting at times. Just as Ron returned from the kitchen with their bowls of late night pasta, a frantic banging sounded from the door. It startled Ron so much that he tripped over the fuzzy maroon rug on the floor, sending the pasta flying. The pounding didn't stop.

Grumbling about the pasta, Ron walked over to the door and lazily opened it. A distraught woman fell through, onto their carpet, eyes red and puffy, shaking from grief. Ron instantly recognised her as Genevieve Armand. Something was different about her, though.

"Winona. You have to go and get Winona! Right now!" She grasped the hem of Ron's shirt, eyes wide, manic, tear tracks winding down her face. "He's gone mad! He's already taken my Emma and Gabriel!" She pushed him backwards. "Go and get her! Don't worry about what I've done in the past. Your daughter is all that matters!"

Ron felt his heart hammering. He didn't even question what was going on as he sprinted upstairs, barely feeling the floor beneath him. He burst into their room, rushing over to little Winona's crib. His heart jumped into his mouth when he saw that she was gone, gone out of the crib.

"HERMIONE!" The scream was full of anguish and grief he didn't know he was capable of. "HERMIONE!" Somehow, he was on the ground, limp like a ragdoll, screaming out into the air, barely aware that Hermione was already beside him, also screaming, clutching the sheets from the crib to her chest.

And then, an anger, a rage, a bubbling black hole filled him.

And it wasn't going to leave until he found his little girl, his sunshine, his flower, the most precious thing in the world to him.

God help whoever had taken her.

Because they were going to die a very painful death.

* * *

_Sorry for the slight delay. I was planning, being really sick and starting a sort of new job. Anyway, plots picking up, I know what I'm doing with the Armand's and soon we'll be getting into what you've all been waiting for (hopefully)._

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	17. Bring It On, Harry Rogers

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

Harry Potter returned home, feeling strangely fulfilled. It was like a string had been pulling him towards something and he'd finally reached the destination. It wasn't something he'd ever felt before. He decided that he was going to hold onto the feeling for as long as he could, relish in how light it made him feel.

What his new job entailed was still a substantial mystery. Already Harry could tell it wouldn't be dissimilar to being an Auror. Strangely enough, there was something different about this one, something he couldn't quite put his finger no. No matter. He would find out in a few days, when he began. Then, he would immediately be able to figure out what it was.

Before he'd left, Coulson had let him know that he would be coming round later in the day to give him a briefing of sorts. Harry was fairly sure it was just to give him the lowdown on the job, only what could be said outside of the SHIELD headquarters. To be extra safe, Harry whipped out his wand and cast several secrecy charms and wards, learnt from when he was hunting horcruxes. Anyone, including wizards, would have a hard time breaking through those wards now.

Just as he sat down on the couch to red a book, a silvery patronus burst through the wall. It was a jack russel terrier, the edges tinged with gold, its little face terrified and full of anguish. Harry immediately stood, attention on only what the patronus was going to say. The glowing edges, an advancement made by Hermione, meant that the message was particularly urgent, and that extra power had been put into the spell.

"_Harry, you need to come over now! Gary Armand has kidnapped Winona, Gabriel and his own daughter, Emma. We are at our house." _Ron's voice was restrained, the anguish and pain behind it only barely there. Harry's heart stopped beating and dropped to his feet. The world began swaying, but not for long.

For a deadly anger had overtaken him. Without missing a beat, he sprinted into his room, grabbing his wand holster and dragonhide armour. Frantically, he slipped it over his head and strapped the holster onto his arm, shoving his wand inside it. Then, he whipped back into the living room to grab his invisibility cloak. As he picked it up, there was a knock on the door.

Coulson.

Through the haze of anger churning through his head, Harry yanked open the door. "You're coming with me."

Coulson looked taken aback. "Excuse me."

"My goddaughter has just been kidnapped. I need you to come with me. We're going to need all the help we can get. Have you ever Disapparated?"

"I''m sorry? Disapparated?"

"Teleportation. We're going to England. You ready?" Harry grabbed Coulson's wrist and turned on his heel before the man could so much as give a remarkably startled squawk. He made sure to concentrate extra hard on the destination he needed, as international Disapparition was near impossible, except for those with special abilities. Harry knew a Portkey was probably the better option, but time was of the essence here. He wouldn't splinch them, but Coulson would be very uncomfortable when they ended up in England.

With a crack, they landed on the carpeted floor of Ron and Hermione's living room. Harry collapsed into his usual heap, leaping up, not believing his luck. Coulson, however, was not so fortunate. He was currently leaning against the couch, face pale and hands trembling. It didn't last long. He composed himself, swallowing down the obvious nausea he was feeling.

"Whatever that was, I never want to experience it again." He looked around the house. "Where exactly are we?"

Harry marched over to the stairs, towards where he knew the study of the house was. Ron and Hermione were most likely there, if he knew his best friends well enough. "England."

"You've got to be joking."

Harry whirled around, wand at Coulson's throat. "Do I look like I am joking?" He snarled the words out. Winona was missing and this man thought he would be joking around? "We are going to get my goddaughter back from the maniac who captured her. So stop asking stupid, asinine questions and get your ass into gear."

Coulson blinked, before nodding, like he'd realised something and was tucking it away in the back of his mind to use another time. "Well, then, let's go get your goddaughter back." Harry nodded in satisfaction, then began briefing Coulson on the situation. The man would no doubt be used to situations like this. If he was anyone else, Harry wouldn't have brought him along.

"My friends, Ron and Hermione, are little Winona's parents. The man who kidnapped her, Gary Armand, also kidnapped two other children. His own daughter, Emma, and his nephew, Gabriel."

"Wait, Gary Armand?"

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, he outbid me for vintage Captain America trading cards a few years back. Something always seemed off about him for me."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Harry groaned. Another superfan of Captain America. No. That was not what he needed to be thinking of right now. Winona was gone. A storm was raging inside him, black, deadly and potent.

He didn't know if Gary was going to survive this.

Finally, they reached the door of the study, which was slightly ajar. Harry pushed it open and burst through. Inside, Ron was leaning against a bookshelf, tears streaming down his face, hands quivering. Hermione was sitting at her desk, a large book open, muttering an incantation over and over. And, to Harry's surprise, Genevieve Armand was slumped down in the corner, distraught, clutching a cushion to her chest and whispering, "Emma, my little Emma."

"I'm here."

Ron leaped up. "Thank Merlin. We were almost going to leave without you."

"You know where she is?" Harry couldn't say he wasn't surprised. To find her that fast was unprecedented. "How?"

"Hermione remembered an old spell that she read about a few years ago. It locates a person based on familial connections. It was mainly used for locating children who ran away." He turned teary eyes on Coulson. "Who's this guy?"

Coulson stepped forward. "Phil Coulson, pleased to meet you. I'm an acquaintance of Mr. Potter's."

"Well, we need all the help we can get. Welcome aboard."

Harry shifted awkwardly, trying to avoid looking at Genevieve. Even after everything she'd done to make him hate her, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Instead, he focussed on Ron. Hermione was still busy with the spell.

"What's the plan so far?"

"Gary is in the outskirts of London. From what we can deduce, he's done this entire thing to get your attention. I want to teach him a lesson he will never forget," Ron's knuckles clenched so hard they went white, "something that will haunt his nightmares for the rest of his pathetic little existence. He can't take my little girl and get away with it!" The last words were an agonised howl. Harry's heart shattered, but not before a particularly sadistic idea wormed its way into his head.

"How about, and I'm just suggesting this, I go in with my true appearance?" Coulson's ears perked up at this revelation. Ron nodded astutely.

"Yes, that will show the bastard." He slammed his hand down on the desk. Hermione's book shifted slightly, and she shot upwards.

"Damn right it will." The words were nothing more than a whisper. "Harry, take the glamour off now. That bastard isn't going to know what hit him."

Harry raised his wand and muttered the incantation that reversed the glamour. Instantly, he grew taller, blond hair falling in front of his eyes, the familiar strength returning. Oh, yes. This would work quite nicely. Gary was going to drop his obsession with Steve Rogers when Harry was finished with him. Gary Armand was never going to want to even think about the colours red white and blue again.

Next to him, there was a sharp intake of breath. Harry glanced down at Coulson, who was now significantly shorter. The man had an expression of awe on his face, which was very quickly stifled as he composed himself.

"We can talk about this later. Fury is going to have a field day with it, I know." He turned back to Ron and was about to speak, when Genevieve's voice croaked up from the corner. He glanced over at her in surprise.

"It's all your fault. Emma is gone because of you!" She shakily stood, extending an accusing finger towards Harry. "It's all your fault." Her eyes, red and puffy, wild and erratic, suddenly locked on him. "You should never have come into my life. If you hadn't, my husband wouldn't have gone mad. He wouldn't have kidnapped my own daughter. YOU BETTER GET HER BACK!"

She then collapsed back to the ground, rocking back and forth, clutching the cushion. Harry, doing something he thought he would never do, knelt down and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We're going to get Emma, Gabriel and Winona back. Gary is going to pay for what he has done."

"No, that doesn't work," Genevieve sniffed. "He's already done terrible things in the past. I thought I could gloss over them, but this is too much."

"What's he done?" asked Ron, kneeling down and looking her dead in the eyes. "Tell me now. I need to know everything I can about the bastard."

"He caused his sister's wife to commit suicide."

"Grace?"

"Yes, Grace. He doesn't have any other siblings." She drew in a great, heaving breath. "Stop talking about this and go get my fucking child back."

Ron and Harry straightened, fire in their eyes. Hermione clasped her wand, Coulson fingered his gun.

They were going to catch this bastard, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

"Let me go!" Gabriel tugged at the ropes binding him to the chair. They didn't budge. Next to him, his cousin Emma was silently crying in her chair, face turned down to the floor. In a crib across the other side of the room, there was a bawling red headed baby.

"Wrong," sneered Gary. He knelt down and Gabriel recoiled away from him. "I've already gotten away with it. Shut your trap."

"Harry will come for me!"

"Yes, he will. But he won't ever have the chance to rescue you."

Just then, the door was blasted off its hinges. Four people marched into the room, Harry Potter at the front, Ron and Hermione at either side. Their faces were thunderous.

"Well, bring it on, Harry Rogers."

The firefight that followed would become that of legends.

* * *

_Yeah, I'm doing that mean author thing where I make you wait for the other half. It will be out within two days. This is a fairly large part and the first arc is wrapping up, so I felt like splitting it into two shorter chapters. It didn't feel right otherwise._

_We've reached 90,000 views. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited. You're all amazing._

_Sincerely  
Mariadoria_


	18. And There Was Nothing That Mattered More

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

"Why, welcome. So gracious of you to finally turn up." Armand gave a cocky grin, sauntering closer to where Harry, Ron, Hermione and Coulson stood.

"Save the formalities, Armand," Harry snarled. He stalked forward, wand outstretched. "You don't have the right to talk. You don't have the right to act like everything is alright!" He'd only felt this angry once before. When Sirius was murdered in front of him, falling backwards into that infernal veil, that was the only time he'd felt the black anger, bitter hatred, rushing through his veins. When he'd cast the cruciatus on Bellatrix LeStrange, that anger he felt was the same as now. Fury.

Wrath.

Madness.

A crazy desire for revenge that overtook every ounce of common sense he had, wresting control over his actions and words. No, it didn't wrest control from him. Sometimes, handing over the keys was the best thing to do. Sometimes, letting go of common sense, letting go of rationality was the best thing to do, because that was the only way to get the other person to see your emotions. The only way to get the enemy to believe what you were feeling, to treat is like something more than fakery, tomfoolery, acting.

That was what Harry felt right now. A raging wildfire eating him from the inside out. Blackening his vision so he only saw what his anger allowed him to see.

And what he saw was a man, a despicable creature, who thought stealing children was an acceptable way to gain his attention. Harry couldn't fathom what must have gone though Gary Armand's head for him to think kidnapping three innocent, crying children was a good idea. How deep did his obsession with Captain America run? It had to be worryingly deep if he went to these heinous, abhorrent lengths.

"Wrong. I have every right to talk. In fact, if you want these kids to live, you should listen very carefully to what I have to say." Gary took a step closer to the children, finger pointing towards the ground. Harry's eyes followed and bugged out when he saw wires connected to the chairs. Armand wouldn't….

"What have you done?" Harry kept talking, very aware of Ron and Hermione slowly walking over to the crib where Winona was wailing. If he could keep Armand distracted, it would give them a chance. A chance to execute the very quickly hashed out plan, improved thanks to the splendidly strategic mind of Coulson, that they'd come up with pretty much on the fly. But when children are stolen away from their parents, time is of the essence.

"The only thing that would work to get your attention!" Spit flew out of his mouth, an accusing finger pointed at Harry. "If you'd just talked to me at Gabriel's party, none of this would have happened. You've brought this upon these children, Harry Rogers. Your actions are responsible."

"My name is Harry Potter, first of all." He took a step closer, a stunner on the tip of his tongue. "And I am not responsible for this. You twist your words to try and make me see your perspective. Well, guess what? It isn't going to work."

"It already has."

"I think you're very sorely mistaken, Mr. Armand. People like you don't get win. People like you belong in the deepest pits of hell. You stole children! They're terrified. If you think that's right, then there is no saving you."

Gabriel chose this time to chime in. "Let us go! You won't get away with this!"

Armand whirled around, furious. "Not another word from you, you hear me! I will flip the switch...oh, very nice." His eyes finally fell on Ron and Hermione, standing over the crib. Hermione was reaching out to grab her daughter, silently cooing. "Very nice indeed. NOT ANOTHER STEP!"

Ron and Hermione froze. Terrified eyes fell on the switch that suddenly appeared in Armand's hand. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Behind him, a small, stick thin girl started bawling, face crumpling up. Harry guessed this was Emma Armand, Genevieve's daughter. What kind of monster would hold his own child hostage? Just the thought of doing that made Harry want to vomit. And all to get the attention of a man who didn't talk to him at a birthday party? Harry wasn't sure what to call Armand, but none of the names were nice.

"What do you want?" whispered Hermione. "Give me my baby back!" Her lips trembled, eyes red and bloodshot, stemming the tears that would be flowing if it weren't for her iron will. It seemed that she was using all her energy to keep from breaking down in front of Armand. "Please."

"Hmmm, let me think." Armand put his finger on his chin, mimicking thinking. "How about no. Not until Rogers here," Harry bristled at the name, "gives me what I want."

"And what exactly do you want? What do you want so badly that you steal three children out of their homes? What could you want so much that you kidnap your own child?" Harry's anger was beginning to bubble out of the cauldron, only increased by the terrified whimpers of Gabriel and Emma, only intensified by little Winona's feeble whimpers.

"I only want you to talk to you. How hard is that for you to see? Are you an idiot?"

"No. You're the idiot here." Harry desperately thought about what he could say that would turn this man into a snivelling mess, which he would then expand upon with spellfire. Then, he would leave him to Ron and Hermione. They would have no mercy. For other things, other people, maybe. But not when their own child was kidnapped and rigged up to a system that would electrocute her.

"I think you've got that wrong." Armand's left eye was twitching. He looked fit for the loony bin, which was where he would be going when they were done with him. He wasn't getting out unscathed.

"_Accio remote._" The remote for the electric wires flew out of Armand's hands and into Harry's. Having no idea how to disable it, he gingerly gave it to Coulson, who got to work disabling it, clearly knowing exactly what to do. Harry turned back to a gawping Armand. "You may have forgotten, I have the upper hand here. You don't have magic. So what are you going to do about that, huh?"

"Remote disabled." The business like voice of Coulson sounded behind him. Harry nodded without turning back to look. Now that there was no risk of the children getting electrocuted, Hermione rushed forward and scooped Winona up into a tender embrace. Ron joined her, wrapping his arms around them both.

"I think there are several things I can do about that," Armand hissed. He reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. In a move that surprised everyone in the room, he held it up to Gabriel's head. All of the little boy's bravado disappeared, dissolving into pure unadulterated fear. Tears welled in his eyes before spilling out, little whimpers of fear escaping his lips. Harry's heard hardened.

"_Stup―" _

"_Expelliarmus!_" Hermione's spell sliced through the air, knocking Harry's wand out of his hand. It careened towards Hermione. She deftly caught it. "Don't try to knock him out, Harry. His finger could slip on the trigger. Don't risk it." Harry growled at her, but saw the logic. Even the slightest risk of Winona, Gabriel or Emma getting hurt was too much. They just couldn't go there.

"Finally, someone with common sense!" crowed Armand. "Hermione Granger, hated by my wife but loved by me! And her husband, Ron Weasley, hated by me but loved by my pathetic wife. You know, if it wasn't for her, I would never have found out about you? It's thanks to her that I even have this opportunity."

Before Harry could reply, Hermione snarled, "Don't you dare say you love me, you bastard!"

"Why ever not?" He chuckled, a high pitch noise that sounded remarkably like Voldemort. Harry shuddered. "Isn't this just a big game of cat and mouse, with Harry here as the cheese and these children as the bait?"

_Fucking bastard._

Before Harry knew what was happening, he was on top of Armand, landing punch after punch. The pistol skittered across to the other side of the building, bumping into the leg of a well worn couch. How _punch _could _punch _he _punch _be so _punch _calm about it? A scream bubbled up in his throat, so many words he wanted to say, scream, yell. And he wasn't even the one most affected by it.

He could vaguely hear screams for him to stop, vaguely feel hands trying to pry him off the bloody man. They did nothing though. Nothing. This man was less than the dirt on Harry's shoes. This monster deserved to be condemned to the lowest pits of hell for what he had done.

And then―

_Silence._

A single gunshot rang through the building.

Smoke coiled into the air.

Armand clutched his rapidly darkening shirt, fingers coming away in blood. His eyes widened, face paled, lips stretched into a twisted grimace, before turning into an eerie grin, so eerie Harry had to glance away.

A tiny girl, clutching a pistol, dropped to her knees, wailing her eyes out. She threw the weapon across the room, then crawled towards the bloody figure of her father.

"Why?" The whisper was so quiet it was almost silent, so broken, so shattered that there was almost no hope of repairing it. Her hands were trembling. Limbs shivering even though it wasn't cold. "Why, Dad?" Her hands fisted into his shirt. "Why?"

"Oh, baby," Gary burbled. "You don't understand. I had to do it." His breathing was getting quicker by the second. Harry stood, ignoring the scarlet substance coating his fists. Hermione gave him his wand, face grim. Gabriel was huddled into her side, Ron putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I had to do it."

This bastard wasn't finished yet. All of them knew that.

"Dad…" Emma stood, backing away from him, like she was seeing him for the first time. Something terrible was going on in her head, Harry could tell. Violent images flashing underneath her eyelids, imprinting in her memories, burned into every dream she would have for the next years. "No. You didn't have to do it."

She took another step back, bumping into Harry. Her neck snapped up, face filled with pure fear. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, feeling her trembling body relax slightly. It took a second, but then she backed closer into him. Harry knelt down and wiped a tear from her face. She was so tiny, so fragile.

Like a reed in a storm, ready to be blown away at a moments notice.

"It's going to be alright, okay? Listen to my voice. Everything is going to be okay." She started bawling into his shoulder. "Shhhhh, it's alright, Emma. I'm Harry, okay? Me and my friends are going to take care of your father for you. You won't ever have to see him again. Everything is going to be just fine."

She sniffled. "But I shot him. I'm going to go to jail." She looked at her father, whose shirt was now a dark shade of red. Her own face paled even more, if that was even possible. "I shot my dad."

"No, no, no, you're not. I'll make sure of it myself. You won't go to jail. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you saved Gabriel's life. You saved little Winona's life. You saved your own life. Think of all the good you did today. Don't dwell on the negative."

She gave a stiff nod. Harry sighed and picked her up off the ground. Her legs clamped around his hips, arms hooking behind his neck. She couldn't see his face, so Harry let the anger return full force.

"_Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur." _The blood began retracting racing back into the rapidly healing wound. Armand gasped in surprise and tried to claw for the gun, fingers outstretched. Harry kicked it out of the way, landing a not so accidental kick to his stomach.

Armand was a fool if he thought he could get away that easily. With a nod to Ron and Hermione, they approached him, smiling grimly, eyes cold as stone.

Time for some fun.

* * *

"Oh, Emma! My baby!" Genevieve surged forward and grabbed Emma, clutching her tight. Never letting go. "I'm so happy you're alive." She cast grateful eyes on Harry, nodding once, before returning to her sobbing daughter.

The next day, the first positive article about Harry Potter written by Genevieve Jones (having relinquished the name Armand) was published.

Harry also gained a shy fan in Emma Jones, who he promised to become pen pals with.

Years later, they were still writing back and forth.

There was nothing that Emma treasured more than the letters of her gentle hero.

* * *

Gabriel matured that day. He became silent, stoic, reserved. Grace was distraught at his safe return, though the police officers were baffled why a Steve Rogers look alike was returning the kidnapped child. Harry nodded, gave his contact details and left them to their own reunion, not wanting to intrude.

Years later, Gabriel become a high ranking official of MI5.

There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't look at the Captain America poster hanging on his wall and smile.

* * *

Gary Armand was never the same. Every day of his life, he was followed by an eerie, ghostly figure, always at the edge of his vision. The figure was tall, blond, lean, lithe, with a lightning scar on his forehead. The figure whispered into his ear, phrases he never wanted to hear. It haunted his every move. There was nothing he could do to get rid of the figure and no one he told believed him.

For who would believe a decrepit middle aged man when he said that the son of Captain America was haunting him?

Years later, he was in an institute for the mentally insane and nicknamed, 'Cap.'

There was nothing he hated more than that nickname.

* * *

After a week, Harry returned to America and started his job with SHIELD. He sped through the ranks and soon was at the rank that Fury and Coulson wanted him to be at. He made close friends with Coulson and struck up a strange brotherly type relationship with an archer, while partaking in cheeky flirting that never seemed to go anywhere with a certain former Russian spy. No one except those close to him (Fury, Coulson, Romanoff and Barton, plus a few others) knew of his true appearance, having found a way to modify his it but still keep his insane strength.

His relationship with Winona, Gabriel and Emma stayed strong. His annoyance at a certain billionaire stayed strong. And his resolve, his iron will and steel morals, stayed strong.

Years later, there was a frantic knocking at his door, with news that they'd found someone important in the ice.

And there was suddenly nothing Harry wanted more than to meet the man who was his biological father.

For when there is a chance at family, Harry took it.

No exceptions.

* * *

_And, with this chapter, the first major arc of the story is wrapped up. I hope that you liked it, I put a lot of effort into it. Now, we're getting into the exciting stuff. Stand by for that. _

_We've reached 200 reviews and 100,000 views. I honestly and still in shock. So, my sincerest thanks to each and every one of you. I couldn't have done this without you._

_Love you all,  
Mariadoria_


	19. Steve Rogers

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

"Is that all you've got?" Harry ducked out of the way, ignoring Natasha's teasing. Too many times had he let her quips, her teasing, get under his skin and distract him. Of course, this lead to him losing the fight horribly to her. Despite his decade working for SHIELD, she still outclassed him fighting wise. In every way. He was slowly catching up to her, but it would take a long time. Fortunately, his sheer physical strength gave him an edge, though he didn't try to rely on it. Just like he didn't like to rely on his magic. Over his time spent working at SHIELD, he'd created a unique combat style combining magic and different forms of martial arts.

"You wish." Well, there we went, letting her get under his skin again. It was something that she was particularly good at. He could never fathom why. He didn't usually let people get under his skin nowadays. If there was one thing he was quite a lot better at now, it was managing his temper. Where he used to explode at the smallest things, now he was cool, calm, collected. Perhaps that was a little exaggerated.

Natasha threw a punch at Harry. In a spur of the moment decision, he grabbed her wrist and whirled her around, slamming her into the ground. She grunted in discomfort, eyebrows screwed up. At first, Harry had fallen for this ruse. This allowed Natasha to get the jump on him. Many, many times.

Not this time though.

"Nice try, Nat." He knelt down and placed his hands on her arms, effectively holding her down. Instantly, her face went from pained to irritated. "You aren't going to beat me this time. I'm not falling for that again."

When Harry had first met Natasha Romanoff, it was in a short meeting with Fury. She was standing with Clint Barton in a briefing room. Their eyes had met, they had spoken briefly, then said their goodbyes. Two weeks later, she woke him up at the crack of dawn, chucked a staff at him and said that she was assigned to help him develop his combat skills. From there, their relationship blossomed into a close friendship. It didn't take long before it became something more, something in between friends and what came after.

Humming in frustration, she shrugged his arms off hers, sitting up. "It was worth a shot. Good to see you're learning, though. It's certainly taken long enough."

"Hey, I...I am learning." His protests were weak, half hearted."

"Yes, slowly."

"I did beat you, you know."

"I suppose that is progress." She grinned at him, an infectious grin that set butterflies alight in his stomach. Wiping sweat off her forehead, Natasha walked over to the benches by the walls of the training room. Harry followed, flopping down next to her.

"Any progress is progress in my book, you know that." Harry grabbed his bottle and greedily gulped the water down. A strand of blond hair fell in front of his face, which he tucked back into the ponytail at the nape of his neck. His hair now just brushed his shoulders. "Anyway, what are we doing later today? You got any plans? Any assignments?"

Natasha smiled. "For once, no. Finally got a quiet afternoon. I don't get those often enough." Natasha leaned back against the cinderblock wall, closing her eyes in contentment. "Maybe I could go to a cafe. Or the movies. I think Hugo is out. That could be cool to see."

"That sounds nice. Mind if I tag along?"

"Sure. I could use the company. Seeing what disguises I can use could be fun."

"Well, it's a date." Harry paused. "No, not a date. A thing. It's a thing. An activity. An outing between friends." Natasha chuckled. "Don't do that. Don't laugh." He pointed an accusing finger at her.

"You're making a fool of yourself and it's hilarious. Why shouldn't I laugh?"

"Oh, never mind. It's an outing. Let's settle on that." Harry stood, gathering up his belongings. "Well, I better go and get out of this," he gestured to the SHIELD uniform he currently wore, "and into some normal clothes. Can't have our cover blown, can we?"

"That we can't," said Natasha. She began gathering up her own stuff, slipping it into a large bag. Not many people knew this about her, but she was quite fond of her bags.

Harry was about to reply when Agent Phil Coulson burst into the room. There was a strange manic energy hanging around him, almost like he was vibrating. He was still his usual reserved self, very proper, but there was no denying the...excitement Coulson felt. That was the only word that Harry could think to put to the phenomenon going on in front of him. Coulson had never been like this. It made him wonder what on Earth was going on for him to lose his composure.

"What is it, Coulson?" Harry took a step closer.

"Big news." Alarmingly, Coulson seemed to be out of breath. Now that Harry looked a little closer, there were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, his cheeks coloured a light red. Coulson never went red from exertion. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

Harry nodded, turning to Natasha. "Sorry, guess Hugo is off." He felt quite bad. Natasha, though, shrugged.

"What can you do about it?" She smiled at him. "Go on. I'm not going to get torn up over it."

"That's a relief."

"If you'll follow me, Mr. Potter." Coulson gestured to the door. His hand was actually visibly quivering. It was either excitement or fear. Harry wasn't quite sure what the agent could be scared of. He was Phil Coulson. Phil Coulson didn't get scared.

"I'm not sure what else I would do." Coulson set a sharp sideways glare his way. "Alright, I'm sorry." He waved goodbye to Natasha, who shooed him away, and followed Coulson out of the room. "So, what is this about? It had to be big if you're shaking."

Coulson glanced down at his hands. "I am not shaking."

"You are."

"Quite the contrary. Now, if you don't mind, I feel like walking in silence. And, before we reach the end of the hallway, it would be wise to put your glamour up."

"Oh, right." How had he forgotten about that? It wasn't like him. His thoughts must have been elsewhere. Most likely thinking about the movie Hugo. With Natasha. No, that was not what was meant to be on his mind right now.

With a muttered incantation and a quick swish of his wand, Harry's appearance returned to what was his 'normal' appearance. For the other agents and employees of SHIELD, at least. With a noise like falling sand, his hair shortened, turning an inky black. Eyes back to green, height back to short. If there was one thing Harry could change about his 'normal' appearance, it would be the height. It was far too late now, though. He was just going to have to live with it.

After walking in silence, the pair arrived in Director Fury's office. Harry's eyebrows began knitting together. This had to be something extremely important. To be fair, most of the things SHIELD dealt with were extremely important. There was something about this, something that niggled at the back of his mind, that seemed to be just a step up from the rest of SHIELD dealings.

"Agent Coulson, Agent Potter. Have a seat." Fury, behind his desk, gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. Obediently, Harry sat, Coulson doing the same. Fury stood, his long, black, leather coat swishing in his wake. Nick Fury was the only person Harry knew that could pull off the 'pirate dressed in black leather' look. If anybody else tried it, they would look rather foolish.

"May I ask what this is about?" Whenever Harry was around Fury, he found that his speech became far more formal than with other people. It only happened with Fury, though. Then again, he was Nick Fury.

"I'm going to cut straight to the chase here, Agent Potter. You might want to stay seated for this."

"How shocking can whatever you're going to tell me be?"

"You'll see," said Coulson. His foot was tapping up and down so fast it was almost a blur. "You'll see."

Fury stood behind his desk and leaned forward. "We found him."

"Found who?" Harry's mind went blank. He couldn't think of anyone who they were looking for. Unless… "You mean?"

"Yes. I am talking about Steven Rogers, your biological father, also known as Captain America."

"I know who he is, Fury."

"I'm aware."

There was a second of stunned silence, then:

"You've actually found him?" Harry's brain was whirring in overtime, neurons firing at a million miles a minute. His heart was beating a million miles a minutes. Thousands of tiny people were running a marathon in his chest, all around his body. His breath was stolen out of him. Giant painting of possible future scenarios sprang to life in front of his eyes, visible only to him.

"We've actually found him." If Harry didn't know better, he would say that Fury was smiling. On the inside. Of course.

Suddenly, Harry felt an overwhelming desire to see Steve Rogers. Though he didn't consider him his dad, that position belonging to James Potter, he was still family. And, at this point, Harry took any chance he had at family.

"Where is he?"

"The private gym. I presume you know where it is?"

"I do. I do." Harry yanked out his wand and returned his appearance to the real normal. Tall, blond hair, lithe and lean. "He knows about me?"

"I have told him that he'll have a special visitor, yes. I thought I would leave the rest to you two."

"I...thank you. You don't know how much this means to me."

Fury scowled at him. "Go and meet him, stop stalling."

Harry nodded once. "Right."

And suddenly he was running through the halls. He didn't care that people were staring at him, whispers about Captain America following his tracks. He didn't care that there were tears spilling down his face. He didn't ever care that he hadn't been put in the know about this before. All he cared about was the possibility of a family.

He reached the gym, opened the door, and stopped in his tracks.

There.

Sitting on a chair, drinking water.

The face practically a mirror of his own.

Steve Rogers.

Who turned his head at Harry crashing through the door. To say he was shocked was an understatement. And with Harry being Harry, he said the only thing he could think of, the only thing that blurted out of his mouth.

"Uh, hi?"

Damn his stupid mouth.

* * *

_Hey, sorry it's been so long. I went on holiday for Easter (Waihi is awesome) and then tried to write, but the anticipation for Endgame was too much. I've seen it now. Fun fact, my country was actually first in the world to get it, which is pretty awesome. All I can say is...holy shit._

_I've also changed a sentence from the end of last chapter. From now on, the official ship is Harry/Natasha. Thank you to all the reviewers who opened my eyes. You're the real MVP's._

_This chapter is shorter because it was actually one split into two. I found that it worked better like this._

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	20. No Exceptions

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

When Director Nick Fury told Steve Rogers that he was going to be getting a special visitor, he had no idea what to expect. The whole situation he found himself in was...overwhelming to say in the lest. In fact, that was an understatement. Waking up in another time, a world so foreign that you wondered if you were dreaming, was not something that was merely 'overwhelming.'

After a while, he found partial solace in the private gym at SHIELD headquarters. When he was lifting weights and pummeling punching bags, it distracted him from the world around him. If it worked back in the forties (the words felt foreign in his mind, cold and metallic), then surely it would work now. Surely, it would distract him from the looming reality of what his life now was. Usually, he would say, 'the best way to face a problem is head on, with a shield and a gun.'

Not now.

Right now, what he needed was time.

He chuckled under his breath. _Time. _Wasn't that ironic? Frozen in the icy Atlantic Ocean for seventy years, unconscious and unaware, and the only thing he was asking for was time. Time to mull things over. Time to come to terms with what happened. Time face the reality that all of his friends and family were likely dead, that he was just a name for the history books, a face on a curled, yellowing page, probably long forgotten. The thought drowned his mind in veritable sorrow, sorrow that could only be escaped through distraction.

_punch._

From what he could tell, this world was vastly different from his own. Their morals, their ideals, they were different. For lack of a better word, he would say people were generally more...loose. When he ran out of the falsey forties room, he saw and heard things that he couldn't believe. The clothes that people wore, clinging to their bodies like a wet shirt, were shocking. The way people talked, the language worse than a garbage disposal, made him want to admonish them into some common decency. But, that wasn't his place. Times had changed.

_punch._

Now he was the one stuck in the past, stuck in a time when things were different. It wasn't the others who needed to change. And it wasn't him who needed to change. What needed to happen was a compromise, a way that he could finally have what he wanted. Some peace. Some time to himself. Maybe a small apartment in Brooklyn, away from all the military operations that surrounded him. Even though he knew he would come back, like a dog attracted to a bone, some time away, some peace, some quiet, would do him a world of good.

_punch._

Lord knew he needed it.

And when he kept exercising, pushing his limits, until sweat dripped down his brow and pooled at his collarbones, his thoughts kept straying to the 'special visitor' that Fury said would be in to see him. The vagueness of the Director frustrated him. How hard would it be to tell him the name of this person, this mysterious visitor who was apparently beyond being identified?

_punch._

It left him to wonder, to stew. Just another mystery of this strange new world for him to solve, another thing to add to the overflowing bucket of 'what the heck' in his mind. It wouldn't take him long, he could tell that the resolution to his wonderings would arrive soon, most likely knocking at the door. The thought made him smirk. That would certainly be the first time someone had knocked on his door in a while. The last time he could remember that happening was…

No.

Steve flung the punching bag away from him with such force that the chains snapped. With an almighty crash, the bag careened into the wall, flumping to the ground. He didn't care. He wouldn't let himself be dragged into another torturous memory. Those memories only reminded him of what he couldn't have. What was lost to time. Those were not the things he needed to dwell on right now. He could dwell on them later, slowly let them trickle out over time, until the ocean threatening to charge through his defenses was nothing but a pathetic little dribble.

Panting, Steve grabbed his water bottle and flopped back into the only seat in the gym. It wasn't comfortable by any means, but it was better than the floor. He took a few sips of the cool liquid, only to be interrupted by a soft knocking at the door.

He glanced up, expecting to see a SHIELD agent. What he saw instead made his heart skip a beat.

Standing in the doorway was a thirty-something man with a face identical to his, down to the smile lines around his eyes. It was like looking in a mirror. Steve's mind went blank. There was no doubt that this man, this stranger was related to him. It would be stupid to think otherwise. Resemblance that close is uncanny, it didn't come without being related. The only question was how they were related.

In the back of his mind, a flower of hope began to bloom. Maybe there was a chance that he would have someone, something, to link him back home, even if it came in the form of a totally unknown relative.

That man stepped forward, his body language screaming nervousness. For some reason, there were tears glistening on his cheeks, his eyes red, bloodshot. Steve couldn't surmise what he could have been crying about.

"Uh, hi."

Well.

That certainly wasn't the introduction he had been expecting. Nor was the accent. The man was clearly, obviously, English. How he ended up in America, as an agent of SHIELD, was another question.

"Hi. I'm Steve." _What? _That was the dumbest thing he could have said. It was obvious that the man knew who he was. "Sorry, you already know that."

"Yeah, I do." The man smiled apologetically, before his face lit up with realisation. "I'm Harry, by the way. I know for a fact that you don't know that." Now a real smile stretched over his face. It was startling how similar their smiles were. Steve could see his father in the way the man's eyes crinkled and his mother in the way his lips peeled backwards in happiness. What he was happy about was another mystery, though Steve has a hunch it was to do with family.

"I take it we're related, then?" No point delaying it any longer. The now named man, Harry, blanched. "Wanted to talk a bit first, huh?"

"Yeah, I was hoping for that." Harry turned around in a circle, dragging his fingers through his hair. "God, I'm awful at this. When I heard they'd found you, I didn't know what to do. I may have sprinted here. The thing is, now that I'm here, I have no idea what to do. Is that weird?"

"Not at all. I think that we both find ourselves in strange situations."

"You've got that right." Steve fought a chuckle at the slightly biting tone of Harry's voice.

Steve shifted on his seat, before standing. Sitting down while Harry was standing just didn't feel right. "So...what exactly is our relationship? I know we're related, it's obvious. I'm just not sure how." He stared at Harry's face, noticing that they were at eye level. "Unknown cousin? That's my best guess."

"It's a bit closer than that, sorry."

"I don't see how it can be closer. Do you mind explaining?"

Harry grimaced. Steve would have seen the discomfort, the anxiety, from a mile away. He knew the look of fear of rejection when he saw it. "You might want to sit down for this."

"I'm sure it can't be all that shocking."

"Well, if that's the way you feel." Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was obviously psyching himself up, "It's funny, I've been waiting for years to say this. The words are just stuck...you know, like there's a filter in my throat. Like whales have. I'm sorry. That isn't at all relevant to the conversation. I'm going a little bit off the rails. I'm not usually like this."

Steve shook his head in sympathy. "If you need to wait, I am perfectly fine with that. I understand how hard these things can be."

Harry's response was immediate, defensive. "That's the thing, you don't. I think I'm the only person to find myself in this situation, ever." Harry's eyes widened. "No, I didn't mean to be rude. Please don't hold that against me. And I don't need to wait. I'm going to spit this out right now, get it over and done with." He took another deep breath, sucking in the air like it was a lifeline. "Okay. You sure you don't want to sit down?"

"I am quite sure I can take whatever you have to say to me."

Harry hesitated for a second, before the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm your son. Peggy took some of your sperm and gave it to a sperm bank. I'm the result of that. Tadaa?" Harry gave some pathetic jazz hands, before stuffing them back in his pockets.

Steve blinked. "I'm sorry? Peggy did what?" He wasn't sure what he'd just heard. "Could you repeat that, I think I just hallucinated." Harry was claiming to be his _son?_ Just what stories had he been fed?

"She took some of your sperm. I'm your biological son. You can ask her if you want." Harry was pleading, full on begging.

Steve didn't budge, though the desperation colouring Harry's face was impossible to fake. And if it were true, it would explain the extreme closeness in appearance. No. Peggy wouldn't do something like that. True, he had always known that one day he was going to have children. It was one of the few things that was a constant in his life, one of the few things that he knew he could rely on. Hope was consistent like that. But to take his sperm, without his knowledge, and give it to whatever a sperm bank was? That didn't sound like something she would do. It didn't sound like something anyone would do, no one that he knew.

The only thing he could do was find out more information. If Harry was lying, if he was an imposter, Steve wouldn't hesitate to throw him out. If he were telling the truth, though, maybe it could be a chance. A chance to have someone close to, a chance to form that familial bond he missed so much, ever since his parents died. Then, when Harry was done telling the story, he would go to Fury and ask for more details.

"Tell me more." It was a mere whisper. Yet those three words caused an instant change in Harry. His back straightened, his eyes brightened, and in that moment, Steve saw something spark inside Harry, something that he himself kept incredibly close to him.

Hope.

"Do you want the whole story, or the abridged version." Harry paused, seemingly puzzled with himself. "This is a lot easier than it was before. Everything's just popping out."

"How about you give me the key plot points first, and then we can discuss it more in depth later." Steve was beginning to get a strange warm feeling in his chest. From what he could gather so far, Harry was usually far more composes than this, a far cry from the babbling man he was now. For some reason, it was oddly endearing. What was more odd, though, was that the man in front of him was slightly older than himself. That was going to be a tough one to get his head around if it turned out that Harry wasn't really his son.

And despite himself, he was beginning to think it was true. Too many things were lining up. The story was logical. Harry definitely wasn't lying. If he was, Steve would know. If there was one thing he was good at, it was spotting liars. The war had taught him that. Every time he looked at Harry, there was something that began to stir inside him, something he couldn't explain. The feeling wasn't bad, though. Quite the contrary. In fact, if he had to describe it, the words he would choose were 'pleasantly warm.' Like a hot water bottle was heating him from the inside, keeping all the cold out.

Harry nodded vigorously. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I don't know why I didn't think of that. Can you give me a minute?" Perplexed, Steve nodded. Harry dashed out of the room, moving incredibly quick, barging through the doors, which flapped around on their hinges. It wasn't possible to move that speed without the Serum, he knew that much. Now, there was almost no doubt in his head about whether Harry was telling the truth.

And, if he was being honest, he did like the name Harry.

Before his thoughts could wander any further, Harry crashed back into the room. A chair was clutched under his arm, hard and plastic, but a chair nonetheless. He wasn't puffed in the slightest, his cheeks not even flushing a slight red.

"I got a chair. So we can both sit down." He plonked it next to Steve's and flopped backwards into it. Steve sat down in his own, with far more decorum that Harry seemed to possess. There was something charming about how utterly flustered Harry was, though. The gesture of getting a chair was also nice, so Steve wasn't complaining. "Okay, where do you want me to start?"

"Let's start at the very beginning."

Harry's eyes lit up. "A very good place to start." He seemed to be waiting for Steve's own eyes to light up with a similar realisation. They didn't. Steve just remained very puzzled. "Nevermind, it's a movie reference. Anyway, the beginning. Well, my parents were having trouble conceiving, so they went to a sperm bank after exhausting all the other options. My mother, Lily, was certain that she wanted to carry her own child, you see. After going through a few options, they decided on your sperm. Lo and behold, I was born. A year later, they were killed," his eyes became slightly glassy, though he kept speaking, "and I was never told the truth of my parentage.

"Time skip to 1998, and I found out you were my biological father by doing some detective work of my own. Met Nick Fury, became an agent here, and the rest, as they say, is history." Harry smiled hopefully at Steve, who was still digesting the information that Harry had just gabbled out faster than a hyperactive turkey.

The story rang true. But, there were a few tests that Steve still wanted to do. If Harry was truly his son, then he would likely have the Super Soldier Serum running through his veins. Sure, he'd already seen it in action, but he needed (not really, he was already believing Harry, and was sure that the complete shock of it would sink in later) to test out his capabilities.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry stood next to Steve, barely exhausted, grinning like mad. This was more than he could have ever asked for. His veins were zinging with excitement, with happiness, with contentment. He turned to Steve and grinned.

"I...thank you."

Steve looked up but didn't reply. Instead, he pulled Harry into a hug, whispering into his ear, "I believe you."

That was all Harry needed to hear.

And, for once, he was truly happy, content, and willing to just go with the flow. He had family. He had a father. He may not be James, but he was family. And Harry took every chance at family he got.

No exceptions.

* * *

_This took longer than expected. I hope that everything was to your satisfaction. I've never written Steve before, so things are going to be a little rocky to start out with. I've really tried my best._

_If you want to, feel free to join my discord server. We discuss fanfiction, there are story updates, and I do take requests. The link is below. It is a bit broken, but I'm sure that if you want to join you will be able to make it._

_ /Kb9zJgV_

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	21. A Call to Arms

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

"So, you're telling me, that you have magic?" Steve slumped back in the overstuffed armchair he was currently occupying (it was suspiciously similar to those that Albus Dumbledore used to conjure, but Harry wasn't going to admit anything). His hand rested on his forehead, eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "Are you sure about it?"

"Am I sure?" Harry laughed out loud. "Yes, I'm sure. I've had it my entire life, and it isn't exactly something that I can get rid of. Not that I want to."

"It's awesome," Natasha chimed in. Her hair had just been cut, so it fell just around her chin. She kept twiddling her fingers in it, which Harry thought was obscenely adorable. Not that he would ever tell her that. "You should see the things he can do."

"And what sort of things can he do?"

Natasha leaned forward, smirking cheekily. Instantly, Harry knew what story she was going to tell. He leaned back, watching and waiting for Steve's reaction.

"A few years ago, when we were with Clint, Harry was in a very bad mood. His temper was so short, you wouldn't believe it. He snapped at the smallest of things. Eventually, Clint's arrows started to annoy him. Do you know what it was about the arrows?"

"Should I be afraid to ask?"

"Yes." She leaned even further forward. "It was how they rattled around inside it. It's not exactly like it was something Clint could stop. Harry, here, didn't care. He completely lost it and ended turning Clint into a sparrow. An actual sparrow! Can you believe that?"

"I'm not sure I can. I've seen some strange things in my time but turning a man into a sparrow is not one of them." Steve saw the devious look shared by the pair opposite him. "No. Don't even think about it. If this is real, I want no part in it."

"Okay, that's fine. I'll show you some other way." Before Natasha could blink, Harry had his wand out and muttered a spell at her. She yelped in surprise, the noise rapidly devolving into an enraged squawk, as what looked like a small goose took her place. "There, is that good enough?"

"That's Natasha?" Steve's voice was incredulous, his eyes wide but unable to deny the proof of what he'd just seen. He seemed thrown off by Harry's nonchalance.

"Yup."

"What type of bird?" The question popped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Harry stifled a snigger. "A bean goose." The corner of Steve's lips twitched. "I don't know why, but that name just popped into my head. I couldn't resis―ow!" He swatted at the goose currently attacking his leg, hissing and spitting at him. Now, in hindsight, turning Natasha Romanoff, deadly assassin, into a goose perhaps wasn't the brightest idea out there. Best turn her back so she didn't continue to peck and him. If he didn't, his entire body would be covered in countless scratches.

Quickly, he reversed the spell, leaving a very, very irritated Natasha on the couch. Her hair was a flyway mess, and she was crouched in a position that would have been very awkward for someone less flexible than her. Somehow, her arms were crossed, one leg jammed between them. The other was wrapped around her neck. Harry edged away from her, grinning sheepishly as she disentangled herself. Her eyes were alight with righteous fire, so fierce that even Steve was beginning to have second thoughts about facing her. The last time he'd come face to face with that fire, was Peggy...

"Now, why did you have to do that, hmmm?" Natasha's voice was soft, deadly, poisoned velvet and rattlesnake venom rolled into one. "Surely, there were other ways of doing it, without turning me into a bean goose. You know that I hate geese."

"Yeah, but it was funny...OKAY! I get it." Harry rubbed his stinging cheek, glaring at Natasha's hand. Merlin, she hit hard.

"Don't turn me into a bird again, are we understood?"

"Yes." And it was understood. Harry would never make that mistake again, lest he wanted to be permanently injured.

"Good." She turned to Steve. "As Harry just demonstrated through very poorly chosen methods, magic is real. There is a lot more he can do, though. It really is amazing. And very helpful."

"I...see. Could you show me some of the other things that you can do? I have to say, I am quite interested."

"Of course." Harry pointedly ignored Natasha's glare. "One of the handiest things I can do is change my appearance. Very useful for missions." He pointed his wand at himself and uttered the incantation for his usual glamour. A tingly feeling, like a cross between pins and needles and the egg-like feeling of the disillusionment charm, crawled over his skin. By now, he was used to it. This didn't mean it still wasn't uncomfortable, though. In fact, it still made him shiver, on the inside.

With the glamour, he stood at five foot six. His hair was shorter, eyes green and face slightly rounder. Steve's eyebrows migrated up his forehead, quite a feat, considering how low they were.

"That is quite impressive."

"I agree." That was Natasha speaking again. She'd never really gotten over his magical abilities, though they didn't faze her anymore.

Steve grinned. "Show me more."

* * *

"Well, this is unfortunate." Harry and Steve, who had been spending the last few weeks together, stood in front of the SHIELD canteen. Somehow, for some reason, the canteen was completely out of food. Everyone was having to go outside for food, which wasn't a problem in itself.

The problem arose when the factor of just how much food Harry and Steve needed to eat. The only places that would facilitate them, at lunchtime, which was peak hunger time, was an all you can eat buffet. Steve was particularly averse to going to one of them, as he didn't trust that the food would be...good enough. It wasn't exactly the type of food. Steve was more than fine with the occasional bad quality food binge. What he wasn't sure about was if it would make him sick.

"What's the worse that could happen?" asked Harry. "We don't really get sick anyway. Plus, I've been there before. The food is really nice."

"I suppose that could work." Right then, Steve's stomach grumbled. Harry smirked. "Alright, let's go, then." Harry nodded in satisfaction and they started walking towards the entrance of SHIELD headquarters, well prepared for the whispers that dragged in their wake. Because Harry wasn't wearing his glamour anymore (it just felt wrong, he couldn't quite identify why), the rumors that swirled around were substantial.

A chilly wind blasted up the street as they pushed outside. Both of them pulled the necks of their sweaters up, trying to avoid the frigid temperatures.

"How far is this place?" Steve glanced down at Harry, eyes full of doubt.

Harry pointed at a small shop. "Right there."

They entered the shop, looking forward to the food.

An hour later, they were kicked out with a broom to their heels, banned for life. After that fiasco, both Steve and Harry swore to never go back to an 'All-You-Can-Eat Buffet' again.

That night, a little Chinese woman with wrinkles as deep as canyons haunted their dreams.

* * *

Harry dodged a punch, flipping around and using his hands to block the next attack. The force behind it was immense, incredible, hard for even Harry to hold back. He gritted his teeth and pushed back against it, putting his all into it. Steve, who was the one on the other end of the walloping Harry was currently receiving, pushed back, harder. This led to a stalemate, until Harry swept his leg around, bashing it into Steve's. They both fell to the ground in a pile of limbs.

The training that Steve had been giving Harry was massively helpful. To fight against something with similar strength to him was refreshing. The fact that Steve didn't hold back was another bonus, even though it usually ended up with Harry on the floor, Steve standing over him. For once, they had both fallen down, which was a nice change of pace.

As they untangled the knot they found themselves in, Steve said, "I want to try something."

"Yeah?" Harry stood, smoothing down his shirt and refastening his boot.

"You said that you wanted to be versatile with all sorts of weapons, correct?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, I did say that. What is this leading into?"

"Well, there is one type of weapon you haven't tried out." Harry watched as Steve retrieved his iconic shield from its position leaning against a chair. He walked back over and handed it to Harry. "I want to see how you fare with that."

Harry raised an eyebrow as he strapped it onto his right arm. Even now, having only worn it for a second, something felt wrong with it. Harry knew right then and there that this was not the weapon he was going to be fighting with. "I'm really not sure this is a good idea."

"You'll be fine, Harry. You're always telling me to relax. Now it's my turn to tell you."

"Alright, alright. At least show me how to use, it, though. I'm not going into a fight with no knowledge whatsoever."

"Fair enough." Steve showed the basic moves to Harry, who got a steadily increasing feeling of unease about it. It just didn't feel right, fighting with a shield. Sure, he had his wand, which he used, but it was difficult to get it around the shield. Several times, he banged it on the edge of the shield, which in turn made him feel incredibly clumsy. He wasn't usually this uncoordinated.

"This doesn't feel right, at all."

"Just try it. I'll go easy on you."

"Like Hell you will."

Ten minutes later, Harry was lying on the ground, utterly exhausted. "This is not working out. Let me go and get something else." He unstrapped the shield and handed it back to Steve. For a while, he browsed the available weapons on the wall and finally picked out a black metal staff. It was heavy and a good length. Something about it felt right.

"Alright, let's have a go with this."

Another ten minutes later, Harry was grinning like mad, the staff held tightly in his hand. Never before had a weapon felt so right, so...him. Sure, adjustments would need to be made. With some consultation from Hermione, he was sure to find a way to imbue magic capabilities into it, such as a shield and splitting it in half, into two smaller halves, with their own little shields. By the time he was done with it, the staff would be incredible, amazing, marvelous. Harry had to stop himself from carrying on, though he couldn't believe he'd never picked it up before.

"Well, I think I've found my weapon. I can't believe I haven't tried it before!" Harry whirled the staff around, grinning at Steve. "This is great." He then rushed at Steve and they resumed fighting.

* * *

Harry gently blew on the cup of green tea he had just prepared for himself, before slipping into the bar stool at his apartment. Steve was standing on the other side of the marble kitchen island, leaning against the stove. His eyes were brighter than Harry had ever seen them, like a lantern that was freshly lit, burning on forevermore. To tell the truth, the man looked happier than Harry had ever seen him.

Harry took a sip of the tea, only to have the scalding liquid sizzle on his tongue. Hastily he swallowed it, placing the cup down and vowing to wait until it cooled down, even though it happened almost every time he drank it. His thoughts didn't need to be on the ideal temperature for drinking tea, though. They needed to be focussed on the reason he'd invited Steve over to his apartment.

In the months he'd known Steve, it had become easier and easier to talk to him. Whereas before, it was something of an effort, now it was simpler than breathing. He was so easy to talk to, so kind and understanding, and so morally upright that it was almost unbelievable. One of the things that Harry liked about him the most was how he listened. He just sat and listened to you talk, never interrupting, just providing an ear.

Harry smiled at Steve, then said, "Steve, there's something that I want to tell you." The said man stood, coming away from his previous perch against the stove. He instead began leaning on the island, fingers steepled.

"Whatever you have to say, I'm here to hear it." And that was exactly what Harry was talking about. That effortless kindness, the type that everyone loved. "I know that I'm here for a reason," Harry smirked. Steve was also uncannily good at seeing people's feelings and knowing just what to say. He was actually quite the detective when he wanted to be. Unless it pertained to romance. In that area, he was utterly clueless. It was hilarious to watch him guess about romance.

"It isn't much, I just wanted to say thank you. For giving me a family. I was happy before, but you've really just...sent it into the stratosphere. These last few months have been magical," Steve chuckled slightly, "and that's because of you."

Steve smiled at Harry, a genuine smile. "Well, if it's that way for you, then it's the same for me. When I woke up, I thought I had nothing, no anchor, nothing familiar at all. Then, you turned up. You've helped me regain my grip on reality, and for that, I thank you." He paused for a second. "Though, it is weird that my son is older than me."

"Yeah, it is kind of weird, isn't it."

"Can we just kind of gloss over that fact?"

"Gladly."

A comfortable silence fell. Harry tested the temperature of his tea and was relieved to see that it was the right temperature. He was just taking a sip, when Steve decided to break the silence in the most untactful way possible by saying, "So, what's going on with you and Romanoff?"

Harry, so shocked at the question, sprayed his tea out of his mouth. Steve stepped out of the way.

Perhaps he wasn't so clueless about romance as he seemed. Or, whatever was happening between him and Nat. He was pretty sure it wasn't a romance, though he wouldn't mind if it was….no, that couldn't be right.

"I'm sorry?"

"Between you and Natasha. There's clearly something going on between you, a blind man could see it."

"I suppose there may be something going on...it's nothing major, though."

Steve smiled a watery smile. "Take my advice. Don't wait too long. If you want to ask her out, do it."

"I...okay."

"But, maybe do it without turning her into a goose, Harry."

"Oi!"

* * *

"Rose, give Hugo back his toy or so help me, I will come up there myself and take it from both of you."

A very frustrated Hermione Granger turned away from the stairs, trying not to lose control. She was on her last line, her three children driving her up the wall, her husband exhausted from being extremely overworked with the Aurors and the people in her department at work wouldn't get off her back about a paper that really, in her opinion, wasn't vital. And that was coming from her.

Just as she was about to head upstairs to break up the high pitched scream fight, there was a knock on the door. She didn't even bother hiding her frustration. With heavy footsteps, she stomped over to the door and yanked it open.

"I don't have time for this, please come back another day. Oh, Harry!" Instantly, her mood turned sunny. It had been almost a year since she'd seen Harry. "Do come in." She turned around, yelling at Ron, who was dozing on the couch. "Ron, Harry's here!"

There was a second of silence, before, "Huh? He's already in the lounge!"

"I'm sorry, can I come in?" Hermione whipped out her wand and pointed it at 'Harry.'

"Who are you?"

"Okay, this didn't work out as I intended." The voice came from behind her. Hermione whirled around and saw 'Harry' walking towards her, hands up in surrender. "I'm Harry, that," he pointed his wand at the other 'Harry' and muttered a spell, "is Steve Rogers."

"Hi." The newly named Steve spoke, his accent now blatantly American. It took a second for Hermione to compute what Harry just said.

"You found him?"

"He found me."

Hermione launched forward and embraced Steve. "Thank you. Now, tell me everything. Oh, this is going to be good."

She didn't see Harry gesturing wildly at Steve, warning him of what was to come.

Five hours later, they returned to America, Harry with tears of laughter still in his eyes and Steve with his eyes glazed over as a result of Hermione's intense questioning and note-taking.

There was nothing that could scare a man like Hermione Granger in the pursuit of knowledge.

* * *

Harry Potter was sitting down in the canteen, enjoying his lunch with Steve, when his phone rang. He picked it up, surprised to hear the voice of Fury on the other end.

"Agent Potter, I want you to go to Calcutta and rendezvous with Agent Romanoff. The Tesseract has been compromised. The Avengers Initiative is being put back into action. Take your staff."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Woohoo, it's done. We're getting into the Avengers now. To plan this, I'm going to be taking a break that will last for around two weeks, to plan and write the next few chapters. See you then.

_f you want to, feel free to join my discord server. We discuss fanfiction, there are story updates, and I do take requests. The link is below. It is a bit broken, but I'm sure that if you want to join you will be able to make it._

_/Kb9zJgV_

Sincerely,  
Mariadoria


	22. Biding His Time

_Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, __**'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'**_ _by the wonderful __**Njchrispatrick.**_ _It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them._

* * *

"Bugger." Frustration bloomed under Harry's skin like a fiery flower. His arm was outstretched, half of his now signature staff grasped tight in his fist. A fizzling shield tinged with brilliant gold flickered in and out of existence. There one second, gone the next. All of his previous tinkerings on the staff were falling to pieces, right when he needed them the most. Well, wasn't this absolutely dandy? And right before what he knew was going to turn out to be a big fight, too. It was like fate was taunting him. Luckily, he knew how to resist those taunts. It was going to take more than some failing shield to stop him. It wasn't like he didn't have his trusty phoenix feather wand on him.

"Staff again?" Steve was standing on the other side of the room, hastily packing his bag with all the essentials he needed. Somehow, it was impossibly neat, screaming military precision. Then again, Harry thought, you couldn't really expect anything less than neatness from Captain America. "You've only been working on it for a few weeks. You can't expect it to be up and running this quickly."

"It's annoying, is all." He whacked the black staff. The muffled 'bong' sound of metal being struck echoed throughout the room. "I'm not Hermione."

"You need to have patience. From what you've told me, mixing magic and technology is incredibly hard. It's going to take a while. And no, you may not be Hermione, but you'll work things out." Steve closed the rucksack, hoisting it over his shoulder with ease. "We should really get going. You ready?"

Harry cast a quick eye over his own bag. The only things that weren't in there were his firebolt (conveniently shrunk, which was very handy) and the invisibility cloak. He quickly shoved them in, careful, loving, shoving, of course, and slung the bag over his shoulder.

"Ready as I'll ever be." He gave Steve a thumbs up, grinning. This was going to be his first mission with Steve. Something strange, something deep down in his gut, was awakening, sending shockwaves of excitement through him, tremors of the thought of what was to come rocking up and down his limbs. Yet, despite all this nervousness, there was a warmth, like the heat of the sun on a mild summer's day, situated firmly in his chest. Above all of this was a layer of professionalism that came with every mission. Despite the difference this particular venture presented, Harry was still going to treat it the same as every mission he did for SHIELD. He wouldn't let the changes, all amazing changes, distract him from what he needed to do.

This one was the big one. From the tone of voice that Fury had, the content of the conversation and the eerie heaviness of the air, Harry knew that this mission was important. More than important. This Loki person was a big threat, likely bigger than any Harry had ever faced before. That called for more professionalism than ever.

"Good. Let's go."

Together, they walked out of the room and into the corridors of SHIELD. As per usual, many strange glances were sent their way. For a while now, Harry hadn't been wearing his glamour, preferring to use his true appearance. There was no need to hide now. Sure, there had been questions, so many questions, endless questions, but soon people came to realise that there were now two people who looked like Steve Rogers running around. The main difference between them was that Harry was a smidge shorter, with a leaner body. Soon, that was what was used to tell them apart from a distance.

As they made their way to the jet that would take them to the Helicarrier (Harry could wait to see Steve's reaction to it) his thought's strayed to Natasha. She was off on some mission somewhere, kept secret as per usual. Despite this, Harry had a hunch she would be meeting up with them on the Helicarrier. Every time she went off, something inside him began to worry about her. This something was the more illogical side of him. Soon, the logical side of him, the side that recognised she was more than capable at the things she did, far more capable than he was, swooped in, gobbling up the doubt. Still, there was a sense of relief that washed over him whenever she returned from missions unharmed. Well, except for that one time in Budapest, but that was something they didn't really talk about.

"Thinking about Natasha?" Steve raised an eyebrow as he spied Harry's pensive expression.

"How did you know?" Honestly, the man was getting better and better at deducing when he was thinking about her. Maybe it was a face he made?

"You always make the same expression. It really isn't that difficult to find out." And, there was his confirmation. "Let's focus on the mission. Romance can wait until afterwards. Right now, we have a megalomaniacal enemy to take down."

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

So, Harry covered himself in the veil of cool, calm, collectiveness that he used whenever he went on missions. The sense of humour disappeared, replaced with logic and nerves of steel. This was a side of him Steve hadn't seen. It would be interesting to see how he reacted. Now wasn't the time to be worried about those things, though. Now was the time to focus.

_Focus._

* * *

Sitting in the back of the jet, strapped to the uncomfortable seat with a belt that bit into his torso, Harry began taking one final look over his staff. What he'd been working on was integrating magic and technology, to hopefully create an intimidating weapon that would make people think twice about facing him, more than they did already. One thing he was quite proud of, something that he'd built up over his years at SHIELD, was his reputation for getting the job done. The staff would only improve that. At least, that was what hoped.

He ran a finger along the smooth, black surface, digging his nail into the groove where small slivers of magical ingredients were. Luckily, they were still in place, so that wasn't the problem. Unfortunately, they were running out of time. He would be unable to make any major adjustments to it. A few spells would have to do, along with faith that it would work. He wouldn't even be using it that much. At this point, it was a backup in case something happened to his wand, which just so happened to his primary weapon. Sure, there were pistols and knives hidden all over him (a trick which he'd handily picked up from Natasha, bless her and her wacky weapon hoarding ways) but in the end, nothing was able to beat good old magic.

Especially magic that had been mixed with tightly honed fighting skills and weapons.

Speaking of wands, Harry took his out of the trusty leather holster strapped to his arm and pointed it at the staff, muttering, "_Confirma Clypeus." _A softly glowing green jet of light slowly snaked its way out of his wand, wrapping around the staff. It tightened, before sinking in and disappearing altogether. Harry pulled his wand away and shook the staff. A glowing shield phased into existence, not once flickering. A triumphant smiled spread over his face. Of course, after all this time, all it needed was a nudge in the right direction. A spell to strengthen the shield. Who would have known?

Hermione.

Hermione would have known.

"Hey, Steve, could you chuck something at this?" Steve glanced up, before searching around for something to throw. "Wait a sec." He conjured a rock into existence, throwing it to Steve. "Be careful not to hit the windows."

"You think so little of my aim?"

"No, I just don't want the jet to crash into the ocean. Common sense, really."

"Right..."

Steve narrowed his eyes, taking aim. He then threw the rock. It pinged off the shield, clattering to the ground. Harry gave a silent cheer. It worked. For now. Improvements would definitely need to be made later, but it was good for now.

If only he knew how wrong those words were.

* * *

After meeting with Natasha and Bruce on the Helicarrier, Loki's presence was soon detected in Stuttgart, Germany. They all piled into a jet. Steve and Harry fought Loki in a crowd of panicking people, Steve with his shield and Harry with his staff, wand knocked out of his hand.

One minute he was fighting. The next, a golden sceptre shattered his shield and gently tapped his chest. Ice raced through his veins, black clouded his vision, and a menacing voice began to whisper in the back of his mind, tendrils reaching out and ensnaring his every action. There was nothing he could do about it except feel the abject terror racing through his veins.

"Bide your time. Wait for my command. You will know when it is time to act, for I shall give the command."

Loki waved his hand and Harry felt the familiar weight of a glamour settle over his eyes, dulling the glow he knew was there back to his normal blue. But that didn't matter.

He was biding his time.

Waiting for his next command.

And screaming inside as his body was turned into a limp marionette, waiting to be controlled in a twisted, maniacal dance.

* * *

_Hey, how are you? Sorry for the break. Anyway, I need to get this out. I'm not going to be posting for a while, as I am in a really bad spot mentally. I just wanted to let you know. It's the least I could do. Sorry for the short length. I wanted to give you something, at least. Something to chew on. The next chapter will focus on the fight scene more, and its repercussions. _

_Until next time, my lovely, lovely readers,  
Mariadoria_


	23. The Blue

"We have a visual on Loki." Natasha, currently piloting the quinjet, began winding down towards the ground, like a corkscrew. "Remember, this is a quick extraction. We're going in there, getting Loki out and leaving. No civilians are to be hurt." They were now hovering over a square in Stuttgart. Harry glanced out the window. What he saw made his blood boil.

Loki, an imposing figure dressed in ostentatious gold and green, a helmet that reminded him of a reindeer on his head, was talking to a crowd of trembling civilians. These civilians were on their knees, heads bowed towards the ground. A sceptre housing a glowing blue gem was clutched in Loki's hand. He was obviously making some grand speech about wanting to rule them. The civilians, frightened for their lives, did as they were told. Loki seemed to be revelling in the attention being bestowed upon him, head held high, arms spread wide like he was some holy figure people should gaze upon with reverence and awe.

The sight of terror being instilled into a crowd brought harry back to his youth, back to Voldemort and his campaign. Well, campaign was a mellow word compared to what Voldemort did. A more fitting word would be murder to get people to comply. Murder people who opposed him. Attack those who believed that he wasn't the answer to all the problems the wizarding world had. Just the thought of another man, monster, trying to rule like Loki only made him even more determined.

Harry strapped his staff to the back of his SHIELD issue uniform, double checking that his wand was in his holster, secured so it wouldn't fall out. That was a mistake he wasn't keen to repeat. Steve was standing at the back of the quinjet, poised, ready for a fight. Harry held himself in the same way, that same familiar stance he now fell into easily, fluidly. It was like a switched had been flicked. One second he was relaxed. The next, his body was tensed, tightly wound, a coiled spring waiting to be released.

"Let's go get this son of a bitch," Harry growled. As Hermione would have said, his 'justice meter' was skyrocketing, his blood was boiling. His mind was clear, though, cooler than ice and clearer than crystal. He knew what he needed to do. Knew what needed to be done. "Merlin knows he deserves what's coming to him."

"Amen to that." Steve glanced back at Natasha. She nodded at them and opened up the back of the ship. "Let's go get this son of a gun."

Harry glanced down at the crowd below. They were now herded into a circle, illusions cast by Loki surrounding them. He saw a lone man standing, could almost smell the fury, the indignation radiating off of Loki like a bad smell.

"You guys get down there. I'll get the gun on him." The back of the ship finished opening. Harry and Steve walked towards the edge.

Steve stepped over the edge the second he saw Loki raise the golden staff, pulsing with ethereal blue, against the old man, the brave man, the one willing to stand up to those who believed themselves better. Harry followed suit, jumping out and readying his wand.

The wind whistled through his hair, in his ears, making his eyes water and fingers tingle. The ground was coming up fast, faster than he could ever imagine. He braced for landing and hit the ground hard, landing next to Steve. The shock that rippled up his legs was overpowering. For a second, all he could hear was an intense ringing, the corners of his vision blacking out. All it took was a shake of the head to snap himself out of it, and narrowly avoid a bolt of deadly blue energy rocketing towards him.

Harry came around just in time to hear Steve say, "You know, the last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everyone else, we ended up disagreeing." The casual way he strolled towards Loki oozed experience, ease, he knew what he was doing.

Loki sneered, his eyes flickering between Harry and Steve, seemingly unsure where to focus his attention. He ended up on Steve, fingers tapping on the sceptre. The slow tapping betrayed Harry's mood perfectly; ominous, unsure, willing to do whatever was right.

Hauling himself to his knees, Loki laughed. "The soldier. The man out of time." His eyes began boring into Harry. "And the son, desperate to live up to his father's image." Harry's left eye twitched. If that wasn't the most ludicrous statement he had ever heard...

"I'm not the one who's out of time, Loki."

The mechanical whirring of the quinjet sounded overhead. Harry knew that right now, Natasha was in the cockpit, readying the minigun, hovering above the courtyard. The people around him scattered, screaming, shouting, desperate to leave.

"Loki, drop the weapon and stand down."

Loki's features contorted into ugly anger in response to the command. He raised the sceptre and fired at the quinjet. Natasha effortlessly manoeuvred it to the side. Steve took this moment of distraction to leap into action.

As the shield rocketed through the air, Harry fired an extremely powerful stunner. It collided with Loki the same time the shield did, only causing him to stagger backwards. The rage on his face increased tenfold and being challenged.

"_Bombarda!_" The ground and Loki's feet exploded, causing him to fly back through the air. This barely impeded him. While in the air, more blue energy flew towards Harry. He dodged to the side and barely dodged it. The force of it knocked his wand out of his hand. Harry watched it despair as it flew through the air and clattered to the ground metres away. Too far away for him to retrieve it in time to rejoin the fight.

Dammit.

Not letting that phase him, Harry pulled out his staff, getting to work. He sprinted towards Loki, swinging the staff around. It impacted on Loki's face. In return, Harry received a sharp hit to the face. He landed on the ground a fair distance from the fighting pair.

The metallic taste of blood seeped into his mouth, dribbling down from his nose, pooling in the corner of his eyes. He rushed forward once again, seeing Loki knock Steve to the ground. He activated the force field built into his staff, hoping against hope it would work.

This was all dashed when, with a deadly thrust of the sceptre, Loki ripped through the force field like a knife through butter. Harry knew at that moment that he was done for.

To his surprise, instead of impaling him with the deadly sharp end of the sceptre, it was gently placed on his chest.

The second he felt the cold, _blue_, inching through his veins, his vision darkening and his limbs stiffening, Harry knew that he would have rather died.

* * *

Harry always hated the feeling of waking up groggy. When he opened his eyes, something primitive in him recoiled at the offensively bright light, beckoning him to hiss at the intruding force. The light did nothing to speed up the molasses in his veins, moving at a snail's pace. It also did nothing to rectify the fog that hung in his mind, a veil between bleary, morning thoughts and common sense, a fog that told him to _go back to sleep. _

The light this time was particularly glaring, piercing through his eyelids even when he closed him. Finally giving in to the reality that he was going to have to get up, he rolled over. Or at least he tried to. His limbs were immobile, trapped by some immobile force. This took the fog and molasses away in an instant, his senses heightening to alertness only found when he was about to die, or a similar situation with appropriate amounts of peril.

His eyes shot open. All he could see, through the blurry, too-bright light, was a green and gold blob. He knew that blob from somewhere. Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion, straining against the invisible bonds that held him against his will, froze his body until he was no better than a statue.

As the blob came closer, memories of what had happened suddenly snapped back into focus. At the same time, the blob morphed into a sadistically grinning Loki, sceptre in hand and ridiculous helmet jammed on his head.

"What have you done to me, you prick?" Harry desperately tried to break free of whatever was holding him in place. "Let me go!"

Loki smiled gently, chuckling to himself. "No, I don't think I am going to do that. Is this not a terribly amusing reality? You, trusted by so many people, completely under my control. I could make you do terrible things. Oh, the possibilities are endless." Harry could see the cogs whirring, the excited gleam in Loki's eyes, a fire that could never be quenched and only thirsted for more. "And don't call me a prick. It an insult used by a child. Still, used by a child or not, I don't like to be insulted."

He stalked towards Harry, until they were nose to nose, eye to eye. Close enough that Harry could see the minute pores on Loki's skin, the slight crookedness of his nose and faint smile lines around his mouth. They weren't the good kind of smile lines, though. They were the kind that came from tormenting prisoners with grins that belonged in nightmares.

"Where am I?" Harry grunted the question out, barely wanted to speak to Loki.

"In your own mind, of course. Where else would you be?"

"Oh, I don't know, some super secret place where you dump your victims?"

"You aren't dead. You're dreadfully slow, aren't you, Rogers."

"The name is Potter. Harry Potter." He held his chin high. "Steve Rogers may be my biological father, but I keep the name of those who raised me."

"But they didn't raise you, did they? No, they were killed when you were a mere infant." Loki took a step back, circling Harry. What surface was he walking on? It was like they were in limbo, an endless void that was simultaneously full of everything and nothing.

"How do you know that?"

"I have control of your mind. Access to all your memories. All your insecurities." Loki's eyes lit up. "Oh, would you look at that? You have feelings for a certain spy. You're never going to get to act on them, never let her know how you feel. In fact, here's a bright idea. I'm going to force you to kill her, force you to watch. Wouldn't that be splendid? And when you're done, the guilt will consume you, a dark tidal wave. Isn't that brilliant?"

"Screw you, you bastard!" Loki merely waved his hand in mild irritation. An invisible hand clamped around his throat. No sound came out of his mouth when he tried to speak.

"I told you, don't insult me. That was a very stupid thing to do, Harry." Loki tutted disapprovingly, the very image of a disappointed professor. "Now, let me explain one last time what is going to happen.

"Right now, we're in your mind, frozen in time. No one outside knows what is going on, no one will ever know what is going on until I get you to strike. To say it in an asinine Midgardian term that you will understand, you're my foot in the door."

Harry strained against what was holding him back. Still no luck. Instead, he glared at Loki, ice cold.

Loki merely smirked. "I am done here. And don't think about trying to break through. I know you resisted the pathetic imperious curse when you were fourteen. Compared to this, that curse is a tickling charm." Loki waved mockingly. "Enjoy your time."

Everything went black for a second. Then, Harry opened his eyes. He could see normally. Could look around normally. But the voice whispering at the back of his mind had a total hold over everything he did, every infinitesimal movement he made.

"You alright, Harry?" He turned around, acting normal, just as the voice commanded. _Biding his time. _"You took quite a hit. Loki's surrendered, though, no need to worry now. We got him."

"I'm fine, Steve. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Harry looked Steve directly in the eyes, smiling playfully. "Positive."

_Negative._

* * *

_Sorry for the delay. I particularly enjoyed writing this one. There will be slight delays between chapters, as I plan out the part of the story. _

_If anyone has any idea what I can do with Winter Soldier, please leave a review. If you have anything you want to happen in the future, also leave a review. I have what happens for Endgame all planned out, but apart from that, there's a huge gap in-between._

_If you want to, feel free to join my discord server. We discuss fanfiction, there are story updates, and I do take requests. The link is below. It is a bit broken, but I'm sure that if you want to join you will be able to make it._

_/Kb9zJgV_

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	24. Breaking the Film

Natasha first noticed something was off when Harry stepped onto the jet after his fight with Loki. He was walking perfectly normally, no injury whatsoever, yet sweat beaded on his forehead, his hair slick with it. In his short exchange with Steve, he spoke the same, with that infuriating chuckle of his cropping up now and then. To any other person, nothing would have seemed off in the slightest. To Natasha, it was a different story. To her, even the smallest discrepancy was a crack she could wedge her knife in, which she would then wiggle back and forth until the truth came to light.

And when Natasha had a hunch, she stopped at nothing to prove it right.

Pointedly ignoring Loki, the greasy-haired bastard, she walked over to where Steve and Harry were talking, intending on getting a better look at the younger of the two. It still confused her, seeing as Harry was technically older than Steve when they were standing side by side, but calling Harry the youngest made sense. It all came down to their birth years.

"I need to get this damn thing working," Harry cursed, hitting his staff against the edge of the bench that ran down the side of the quinjet. "I shouldn't have taken it to the fight in the first place. It was a stupid move." He connected the two halves, twisting until he heard a click. There was a quiet fizzling noise, along with some sad looking blue sparks dancing around the end of the staff. Harry slumped over. "I'll work on it later."

Natasha frowned. There was the crack. Harry was usually a fairly positive person. To see him slumping over, back bent and eyes cast low, especially after a fight where they won, was wrong.

Now to work at the chink.

"Come on, chin up, Harry," Steve said. "We've got Loki and the sceptre now. There will be plenty of time to work on it later. Isn't it a prototype?"

"Yeah, it is." Harry was about to continue talking, in the strange melancholy way he'd adopted, when thunder boomed outside of the jet. Everyone inside jumped, except for Loki, who sat still, ramrod straight, lips pursed.

Natasha glanced over at Harry, who was no longer slumped over. And she knew it wasn't her imagination when she saw his eyes, for the shortest time, flash an ethereal blue, before returning to their normal colour.

He was with Loki.

**LINE BREAK**

On the inside of his head, Harry was fighting. Fighting against the iron control that penetrated his mind. If he could just get through the next layer, he would be that much closer to freeing his mind. Freeing himself from Loki's grasp.

The magic of the sceptre was strong. Impossibly strong. So strong that Harry didn't have a chance of breaking through it from the inside. Every time he launched an assault on the impenetrable wall encircling his mind, he was met with nothing but an evil chuckle, silent but somehow deafening. For hours now, he had been trying and failing, over and over, until even his resolve was beginning to fade, splinter, crack into pieces and smash into smithereens.

Inside his mind, Harry stepped back. He needed to stop throwing himself at the wall and think of a better solution. Something more clever than using his body as a battering ram. A rather useless battering ram at that, too. The mental bruises he was covered in were going to stick with him for a very long time, he was sure of it. Already, he could feel pain pricking inside his head. _Huh. _That was rather interesting to find out. So, it now seemed that if he tried to bash his way past Loki's enchantments he would get a killer headache.

Time to find another way, Harry thought. Another way that didn't end with him crashing into an invisible barrier, heart racing in anger, hands curling into fists. He slumped down onto the ground, crossing his legs. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on his knee, keeping time with the cogs ticking over in his head. Calm. He needed to stay calm and calculated. The last thing he wanted to happen was for his will to break. That was the worst possible thing that could happen. As long as he was fighting, there was a way out of this hell. A way for him to get his own mind back, gain back control over his own body.

Memories of his classmates in fourth year belting the national anthem and cartwheeling around the classroom blossomed in his mind and Harry couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. It was soon stemmed by the realisation that if he didn't think of a way out of that soon, Loki would force him to do far worse things than singing the alphabet off-key. Images of blood, gore, shining sceptres stabbed straight through someone's torso, took a hold. He shook them away, determined not to focus on the possibilities of what could happen. They weren't going to happen. He would get out of there before that happened.

The people around him were smart, incredibly so. He was no stranger to that. If there was one person who could pick up on little details, it was Natasha. Her manipulation skills were second to none. That was certainly something he found out first hand. He still felt a pang of annoyance when he thought about that sandwich. Steve was hardened from the battlefield, an amazing tactician and able to sniff out a threat at the snap of his fingers. And even though he didn't know Tony Stark well, Harry knew for a fact that the man was smart. Incredibly so, to the point where it became slightly ridiculous. He had to admire the name the man had made for himself. That reputation was a rare thing to come by and to control it the way he did...Harry had to give it to Tony Stark.

His thoughts began wandering through different things he could do. After mulling over them for a few minutes, he remembered the glamour that was on his eyes. Not that it could really be called a glamour, seeing as Loki cast it. The type of magic was different from his own. It was heavy, intrusive, a weight that settled over him and wouldn't leave for a long time. It felt cold, _blue,_ strained, almost as if something was constricting it.

Maybe...

Yes!

Instead of trying to force his way past the barrier, Harry would wheedle away at the glamour hiding his glowing blue eyes. It would only last for a second, but with so many sharp-witted people around him, it would be enough for them to know. That single flash would be all of the warning they needed, the only notification. They couldn't trust him, and he was sure as Hell going to let them know that.

And so, he began chipping away at the enchantment, slowly breaking it down until the dead-weight that was Loki's magic began to feel like a flimsy piece of film. He punched at it endlessly, until his knuckles were splotchy and red.

With one last mighty punch, the illusion shattered. Harry felt the plane shake in the sky, thunder rumbling. Loki glanced up, distracted for the smallest of moments. It was all Harry needed.

His eyes flashed blue, only for a second.

But it was enough for Natasha to look up and see the truth of the situation.

* * *

Loki was stoic, calm, almost distant, on the outside. To their every scathing remark, he replied with a witty comment, never letting them see what was on the inside. His true plan, his true purpose, was to be kept a secret. Although, from how Potter was fighting, it seemed that his resolve wasn't breaking. At least Selvig was smart enough to recognise a superior force. Potter, on the other hand, just kept going. He was like a Clydesdale horse, always plodding on, never phased by the distance needing to be travelled.

With the way Potter was rebelling, a new idea began to form in his head. He could use this to his advantage. Use Potter's own stubbornness and pride to his advantage. Clearly, he'd found another path and was breaking around the illusion on his eyes. The Avengers would know within the minute that Harry wasn't himself. However...this could be quite the game. They would know that Harry was under his control, but not that he knew they knew. Oh, the fun he could have with that. Finally, Loki would be in a position of power, a puppet master pulling the strings of the marionette's without them even knowing he was doing it.

His thoughts were cut short by storming clouds gathering outside. Lightning flashed and the quinjet jolted in the sky. _Of course. _He couldn't avoid Thor, could he? This was just his luck.

As he was yanked out of the ship, to the alarmed cries of the Avengers, he sent a command towards Potter. _Wait. I will call you. They know. Well done. _

Falling through the sky, wind whipping his hair, all he could do was smile.

For things were going exactly per his new plan.

* * *

_Hey, how are you? It's been a while, hasn't it? I know this chapter is really short, but I've been sorting myself out, and this was as long as I could write the chapter at the moment. The lengths will be increasing back up to 3000 within the next few updates, though it will take a few chapters to get there. I need to get back into the flow of writing things first before I go back onto the larger chapters. _

_Things haven't been going too well, but here I am, sort of well. It feels so good to be back writing this story. I haven't written for a month, so this is heaven. Quite honestly, I feel high, not that I know what that feels like. Anyway, I'm back. Updates should be back to weekly shortly. I am writing several other stories, but this one takes top priority. Thank you so much for waiting patiently._

_Thank you so much for all of your reviews and favourites and follows. We passed 400 reviews and are in the 1000s club for favs/follows. This is amazing. Once again, thank you so, so much. It means the world to me the support that this story has received and it keeps me going, keeps me motivated to write._

_And, as always, I am sorry for the lengthy author's note. It won't happen often, I just needed to explain myself and my current situation._

_I look forward to seeing you again soon, my lovelies._

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	25. Death Is A Thing, Not A Person

_The inspiration for this story comes from 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years' by 'Njchrispatrick.' You should go check it out. It's cool._

* * *

When Loki was dragged from the Quinjet, Iron Man and Cap leaping out after them, a thought came to Harry. It was a thought he'd been avoiding for years, ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. There was another way he could get out of the mind control. As it stood, it was several times stronger than the Imperius, so strong that not even a crack could be formed, no matter how hard he tried. Until someone else did something, he was stuck, with his mind a slave to Loki.

But what if there was no mind to control?

There was a way he could get out of it. Just thinking about it sent shivers up his spine. Only in true desperation would Harry even consider such a thing. Now that Loki knew about Natasha knowing, though, he wasn't going to let this go on for any longer. He had to do something before the team was torn apart from the inside-out. With such a powerful enemy, in-fighting would only

The deep, festering power within him, hidden for so many years, began to stir. Harry gingerly poked at it, knowing that if he accepted it for what it truly was, there would be no going back to his relatively normal life. Well, normal for him, at least. But if he could get out from the control Loki had over him, maybe it would be worth it. He could learn how to control it and prepare himself for what he had to do. If it saved those people around, him, however indirectly, Harry would do it.

After all, he was no stranger to sacrifice.

* * *

**2002**

"Harry, Harry, can you hear me?" The panicked voice of Hermione broke through the haze clouding his brain like a knife through butter. "Harry! Oh my GOD, RON!" He heard frantic footsteps speeding towards him. That couldn't be right. How could he hear footsteps? He was supposed to be dead. The cutting curse...a memory of explosive pain ripping through his body, seeing his leg on the other side of the courtyard, feeling blood spilling out onto the ground. That couldn't be right. How could he hear Hermione? He was dead. Or supposedly dead.

Was this the afterlife? Was he hallucinating? Or were they dead too, all killed in battle with nothing more to hope for than their family keeping good memories? No, that couldn't be. The rough stone pavers dug into his back, little sharp bits almost cutting him. The air carried the unmistakable stench of battle, blood, sweat, tears. This was a reality. There were no questions about it. Someone must have saved him.

He tried to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a ragged wheeze. Hermione cried out again in anguish, tears landing on his dirt-covered cheek. Harry knew if he opened his eyes, he would be met with carnage, the worst thing Wizarding Britain had seen since the Battle of Hogwarts. And here he was, lying on the ground, unable to do anything. Even trying would be a fruitless attempt. The swirling feeling of his magic, ever-present, was almost drained. He was empty like his skin was punctured to let the magic flow out. That couldn't be right.

"Harry, wake up, goddammit!"

"I'm...awake..." As he cracked his eyes open, an offensively bright light forced its way through. He squeezed them shut again. Slowly, his eyes worked their way open, only to see what he knew he would. The anguished faces of Ron and Hermione hovered in the ash-filled air. "Calm...down." Harry managed a wry smile, despite the strain it caused his muscles.

"How did you survive?"

Harry didn't reply, though there was no need to. He was busy asking himself the same question, though his answer wouldn't come until several weeks later when he was discharged from St. Mungos.

* * *

**2002**

Harry smiled up at the air hostess as she handed him his meal. From the look of things, it was supposed to be scrambled eggs and fruit salad. It was closer to yellow slop and plastic caricatures of fruit. Oh, if only he'd been able to take an International Portkey to the SHIELD Headquarters. He did understand the reasoning behind the decision, but it would mean he wouldn't have to eat the sorry excuse for food in front of him. No matter. He had to eat.

Harry shifted to place the food on the tray table. A sudden twinge of pain raced up his leg. He looked down at it, frowning. There...there was no reasonable explanation for what he'd gone through in the last few weeks. After the battle, he'd been rushed to St. Mungo's, sans a leg. Though the Mediwizards worked tirelessly to try and grow it back, it was too late for it. Harry had already known this. Strangely, during the night before when they were going to break the news to him, Harry's leg grew back. Like a lizard's tail, only a thousand times stranger. There was a massive scar from where it had regrown, a ring of raised tissue circling his thigh. Apart from that, there was nothing more to indicate what had happened.

Harry removed himself from the hospital as soon as possible. The last thing he wanted was to become a test subject because his leg did something stupid. Still, he wasn't complaining. After a few days, he was fully able to walk on it again without the knee giving out beneath him. It still hurt but there was a big difference between having a leg and not having one.

Just as he began tucking into the food, determined to scarf it down quickly and avoid the tasteless mush, a soft voice spoke next to him. "Hello, Harry Potter. I've waited a long time to finally meet you." Harry jumped in surprise. The eggs fell back to the plastic plate with a very audible squish.

He turned his head to look at the...person who was now sitting directly next to him. He wasn't sure where they had come from or why they were sitting next to him, as Harry was the only one in his row. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't determine what their gender was. Their voice replayed in his head but nothing came to Harry. Somehow they looked young and old at the same time, alive and dead, male and female, happy and sad. It was like someone had put a bunch of oxymorons, contradictions and opposites into a blender and this being was the result. They were nothing and everything all at once. It made Harry feel strangely small, though at the same time he felt like he could control the universe. _What the Hell..._

"Um, hi. You have been?" Harry tried not to stare at them, instead deciding to take a drink of water to ease the tension.

"Of course. You are my potential master, after all."

Harry spluttered, spitting water out onto the seat in front of him. "What the fuck? Who do you think you are?"

They didn't reply. Instead, the woman who was sitting in front of Harry turned around. Her face was twisted into an almighty glare. "Watch your language, young man. I don't know who you think you're talking to, but some people don't appreciate those words." She turned back around, before swivelling back. "Who are you talking to, anyway?" She stuck her head forward, wedging it in the small gap between the seats, smiling expectantly.

"No one, I'm talking to no one." Harry pointedly ignored the person beside him who was cracking up, their bellowing guffaws almost causing his ears to ring. He grimaced in annoyance.

"Oh, you have to be talking to someone, dear. No one gets that mad at no one."

"Well, maybe I do. And maybe I want to be left alone." He gave her a pointed look. She seemed unfazed. "Please, just leave me alone. I'm trying to eat my breakfast."

"Do you want to talk about another topic? Well, you kind of look like my son's poster of Captain America."

Harry groaned. He knew he should have used his glamour. This was the last thing he needed right now. "I don't want to talk about it. Leave. Me. the fuck alone."

"Fine. But don't use that language again, okay?" She turned back around, though Harry knew she was keenly listening in to see what would happen. It seemed he had found the dictionary definition of 'nosy parker.' A few years ago, his temper would have snapped. He was able to keep it in check now, thanks to his almost year-long tenure as a SHIELD Agent Trainee. They weren't kidding when they said he would get no special treatment.

Harry turned to the person sitting next to him, discreetly casting the muffliato and notice-me-not charms so the nosy woman in front wouldn't be able to hear their conversation because apparently, the person was invisible to everyone but him. Instead of cursing his luck, Harry found himself being intrigued. Who (or what) was this strange being who could only be seen by him? The remark about being their 'potential master' did disturb him, but there had to be a reason behind it. They were magical, given that they knew who he was and the way they looked at him with what appeared to reverence. The thing was, after beginning his work at SHIELD, Harry was introduced to several different branches of magic, sorcery and supernatural powers. This being could be from any one of those, and he was determined to find out which one it was.

"Alright, let's forget the potential master stuff and start again." The person nodded sagely, reminding Harry of a wizened turnip. "Who are you? Do you have a name?"

They paused for a second, considering something, then spoke. "I have many names I choose to go by. Some days it's one, other days another. I'm not one to stay with the same name for a long time. It's boring when you're as old as I am. At the moment, I like the sound of Eira. That works for now. Quite pretty, isn't it? The name means 'snow.'"

"Okay, Eira." Bemusement filled Harry. This Eira was a peculiar person, wasn't she? "Why have you found me?"

"Finally, an interesting question. Well, not necessarily interesting, but one that I enjoy answering no matter how many times I have to do it." Eira's smile grew two times bigger, so big it almost split their face in half. "The Hallows."

All of the air rushed out of Harry's lungs. "What did you say."

"The Deathly Hallows, Harry. Don't you remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"You couldn't, Harry. It isn't in your personality or mind to just forget doing something so momentous as uniting the Deathly Hallows."

"Well, I want to forget."

"That isn't on the table, you know that. The Hallows don't want to be forgotten, and neither do I."

"Yeah, and what do you have to do with the Hallows?" Harry cast his gaze to the window, staring out at the clouds sitting peacefully in the clouds.

"Tell me, do you remember what is foretold to happen when you unite the Hallows together? In the 'fairy tale,' at least." Harry could hear the apostrophe's around the words. "Do you remember the burden that is meant to fall on the shoulders of the Uniter? The power they're supposed to gain?"

"What, the power of the 'Master of Death?'" Harry spat. "Yeah, that's nothing but a legend. If you're playing at being Death, you're doing a piss poor job of it."

"I'm hurt! I'm wounded! Someone call the doctor, Harry, I'm dying!" Eira dissolved into a cackling fit. "Your leg. How do you think that happened? Or were you just going to ignore the questions swirling around in your mind? I know they're there, I can hear them. 'How? Why? What? Why me again?' They're all there, Harry. They're all there."

"I know they're there. I choose to ignore them. It was some freak accident, that's all."

Eira sighed. "Stubborn, aren't we? Well, I guess I'll just have to change that, won't I?" Harry raised an eyebrow, having given up looking at the clouds when they turned a dark, stormy grey. "Look in your bag. The one with the Invisibility Cloak."

"Fine. If it will appease you, I will." Harry dug under his seat and retrieved the bag, rifling through it to grab out the invisibility cloak. It was disguised as a regular blanket to other people, a handy charm he found in an ancient tome in Diagon Alley. As he pulled it out, two items fell onto his lap, sizzling and crackling with pure magical power. His eyes widened. "What is this shit?"

"This is me being a little bitch, as you would put it, Harry. I needed some time to consider when I was going to show you the power you gained when you united the Hallows. The fight in Doncaster was the perfect opportunity. Sure, you'd been in semi-threatening fights before but this was the one to...warm you up to the mantle you must take up."

"And just what does this mantle entail?" Harry whispered, beginning to realise that this wasn't something that would go away any time soon. "Tell me."

"That's more like it." Eira cracked their knuckles, then their neck. "As the Master of Death, you cannot die for some time and must take a degree of control over the flow of life and death between the two planes. I guess I will report to you, though I will be taking the opportunity for a break. I've been doing this for thousands of years, ever since I last united the Hallows. Honestly, it gets exhausting after a long time. They whine so much." They tapered off, realising that they weren't doing the best job at convincing Harry to take up the offer.

"So, you're essentially Death?" He held off on the other question trying to force their way out of his mouth. "And how come you've been doing this for thousands of years? Last time I checked the Hallows weren't that old."

"No. I am not Death. And the Hallows are just the current iteration of these objects. They've been around since the dawn of time."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Now that Eira said that it was the current iteration...that made a lot of sense. "Then...what are you?"

Eira huffed. "Death is a thing, not a person. As it stands, I am the current 'Master of Death,' though that is a very fancy title. Makes me feel all lofty. All it means is that I help some dead people pass over to the afterlife and can occasionally talk to them. I can't die, but that's cool. I've seen so many things and been so many places. The job doesn't consume all of my time. It's quite leisurely."

"If it's leisurely, then why do you want me to take up the mantle?"

"I just want a break, is all. Plus, ever since you united the Hallows I've ticklish."

"What?"

"Ticklish. Or itchy. Both work. There's been a little itch at the back of my neck. Five years, Harry. Do you know how annoying that is?"

"Very, I know." He glanced down at the Hallows, resting innocently in his lap. "Suppose I did accept the mantle. What perks would come with it? And what's up with the healing?"

"Oh, the healing. That's for when you don't know how to use the powers or are coming into them. It means that you can't die. Do you lose a lot of blood? Fall asleep and it will come back. Honestly, the rules around it are rather murky. Later on, you will learn to harness them better. The other perks include international Disapparition and being able to get answers from dead people for feuds." Eira gave Harry the jazz hands.

"That sounds miserable."

"No, it's quite fun. It isn't lonely, either, before you ask."

"And how would I accept these powers?"

"Oh, you have to expel all your magic from your body and die while accepting the power of the Hallows. They can be anywhere and will come to you after you do that. You do get your magic back when you wake up, it's changed, though."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, that's the unpleasant bit. It's fast, though. And then you get to talk to someone. That's cool. I talked to my sister who died a few years before I united the Hallows."

"I...I can't do that. I have a family. I don't want to outlive them."

"It isn't that bad, Harry."

"The fact that you have to convince me says a lot more than you're willing too. I'm happy where I am. I finally have a family. They may not be biological, but I count them as family nonetheless. I'm not ready to give that up."

"Harry, you have to understand!"

"Understand what? What is there to understand? You've been doing this for thousands of years, what's a few more? I don't want to do this. You need to leave me in peace."

"But the itch."

Harry didn't reply. Instead, he grabbed the repaired Elder Wand and snapped it in half. The two halves fizzled and sparked, making popping noises, before it died out altogether. "I. Don't. Want. It. How hard is it for you to understand that? I like my life right now. I've finally found something I'm good at and like doing. Can't you give me that." He tossed the remains of the Elder Wand towards a flabbergasted Eira. "There, take this. I don't want it now and won't ever in the future."

"You've got to reconsider!"

"No."

* * *

**2012**

So it seemed that Harry was considering taking up the mantle that Eira so dearly wanted him to. Over the last decade, he'd suppressed the power that sparked every time he thought of the Hallows. He was fine with one, the Invisibility Cloak. Never in a million years would he let it go. The others he held no sentiment towards. He cared so little that he wouldn't mind (in fact, he would be quite happy) if they went to die in a fire. Not that it was likely to work on the age-old all-powerful artefacts. Destroying things like that never worked unless you treated it like a Horcrux. As much as Harry hated the cursed soul containers, the Hallows could easily be avoided if they stayed with Eira. Not that they would be with her for long.

If he was going to do it, he would have to figure out how to...well, die, before Loki was able to stop him. The power within him should be enough to hold of Loki's attacks for a short amount of him. An extremely short amount of time. He could already feel the command creeping up to him, preparing to immobilise his thoughts and control of his magic. That wouldn't be happening.

With a great cry, Harry finally let the power that was inside of him loose.

Sparks immediately began to fly through the white void that was his controlled mindscape, sickly yellow, festering green and a deep, deep black, so deep that light seemed to be sucked into it. A blazing fire began licking at his arms, burning them to a crisp, but when he looked down he was unscathed. The pain was so bad it felt like one-thousand white-hot knives were trying to tear him apart from the inside-out, cutting his organs into ribbons. Someone was screaming, and it took him a long time to realise that it was his scream that sounded. Something was trying to escape, something burning hot, exiting any way it could. It oozed out through his pores, streamed out of his mouth, poured down out of his nose and ears. It was golden, it was familiar, it was...magic.

His magic.

He hadn't felt this empty since the battle at Doncaster in 2002. This couldn't be right. He had to be doing this wrong. The thoughts were pushed out of his head as the pain increased tenfold, like an orchestra reaching crescendo, before everything cut out.

Nothing.

Just blackness and Harry's corpse laying on the white blankness of his already rotting mindscape.

* * *

Loki knew the second the connection had been severed. There was a strange power surge, then nothing. He was left wondering what in Odin's name Potter had done to get free of the Mind Stone. Getting free of it was impossible unless the person was dead. That couldn't happen, though. The man wouldn't be crazy enough.

Would he?

* * *

Natasha stayed in the jet, keeping in contact with Tony and Steve. Nothing was happening, when suddenly Harry started sparking, screaming and convulsing, a golden mist that made her feel incredibly light spewing out of his body. This continued for ten seconds before he fell limp, like a puppet with the strings cut.

* * *

A blinding light shone through Harry's eyelids. They were illuminated a bright red, veins crisscrossing in every direction. His body was stiff, joints creaking every time he moved.

"Harry?" a woman whispered.

"It can't be. Not this early." This time a male voice, petrified.

"Harry!"

He peeled his eyes open. Surprisingly the light didn't pierce into his eyeballs. It was now a gentle, comforting glow. Similar to the mindscape, but completely different. Kings Cross Station, when he'd stepped in front of the Killing Curse during the Battle of Hogwarts, was the first thing that came to mind. At the thought, the room began forming into something else. He was surprised to see that it was the gym where he properly met Steve for the first time. It did make sense. A lot of shared time was spent in that room, along with good memories that would last Harry a lifetime. Several now, seeing what he'd just done. The thought of the number of years ahead of him was dizzying. They loomed up in the sky like an imposing mountain range, impossibly vast and never-ending.

"Harry is that you?"

He swivelled around and was met with a sight he never thought he would see. Standing in front of him were two young adults, barely into their twenties. He recognised them immediately and felt his heart swell. Maybe Eira (or whatever their name was now) was right. Perhaps it was all worth it, the everlasting life, just to see his parents standing in front of him as more than ghostly spectres.

"Mum, Dad," he breathed, rushing forward and falling into their embrace. "You're here."

"And you shouldn't be, baby," Lily said, choking on her tears. "You're so young. Why did you have to die?"

"Harry, we're here. That's all that matters."

"I'm not staying," Harry sobbed, tears coming out full force. "I'm going back. The Hallows...I united them. I don't have long."

"So you're not dead?" Lily tightened her grip around her son, James doing the same. "Thank Merlin."

"I am dead. I'm just going back."

"Shhhh, son. We don't need to talk. Stay here with us. Just for now, let us be together."

And like that they stayed, clutching each other close. James and Lily didn't ask about his changed appearance nor about Steve. They accepted him fully.

And though Harry knew that sometime soon he would have to leave the comfort of his parent's arms, right now he was content to stay right where he was and soak in the love and affection that he should have received during his childhood.

For right now, things were good.

* * *

_Well, I'm back, with a longer chapter. It was originally meant to be one chapter, but it would have turned out far too long. Part two of this 'Master of Death' arc should be coming out in a few days, as well as wrapping up the first Avengers movie arc. I will be taking a lot of time to improve the coherency and pacing of this story, as I know it is all over the place. I started off with no plan, so I'm kind of flying blind. Not anymore! I SHALL CREATE THE BEST PLAN!_

_I hope you enjoyed this. I know it may have come out of nowhere, but trust me, it is important to the arc that encapsulates Infinity War and Endgame. Look at me, setting things up a lot of chapters before they happen. Aren't I a smart cookie?_

_I didn't get enough sleep last night, heheh._

_If you're going to leave a negative review, please make it constructive. That would be greatly appreciated. I don't like flames. They suck._

Sincerely,  
Mariadoria


	26. Holding On By His Fingertips

_The inspiration for this story comes from 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years' by 'Njchrispatrick.' You should go check it out. It's cool._

* * *

"See, didn't I tell you that it would all be worth it to meet family members?" Harry started at the unexpected interruption. Up until that moment, he'd just been sitting with his parents, enjoying the comfortable silence that wrapped him up tightly. To say that the vaguely familiar voice was a surprise would be a gross understatement.

He glanced up, surprised and not at the same time. Eira, the person who had approached him a decade ago, was walking towards him. Their hands were in their pockets, black hair tied back in a messy bun, eyes bright with excitement. Though their appearance changed drastically from the last time they met, Eira still exuded that impossible aura of eternity, of everything and nothing, life and death.

"I suppose you were." Harry's voice came out happy as church bells on a wedding day. "This is amazing."

"Why thank you, Harry," James preened, holding his chin up high in a corny mockery of the aristocracy. Lily fondly swatted his shoulder. "Though Harry better go back. He's far too young to be dead. He needs to live his life, understood?"

"He has no other option but to go back," chuckled Eira. "It's not like he can die. Even if he does, Harry here will spring right back. Like I used to be. Still am, really."

"That's far better than dying," Lily spoke up, beginning to run her hands through Harry's blond hair.

"It is." Eira paused. They seemed to be considering something. "I need to tell you some things before you go back, Harry. You haven't got much time before the world of the living requires your presence once more. You've already been gone for hours, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to end up buried alive."

"They think that I'm dead?"

"Your body has no pulse at the moment, though it is being kept alive by a certain spider." They smirked knowingly. A pink blush crept over Harry's cheeks. James snorted at his son's embarrassment. "You will need to be back, though. I estimate we have around half an hour before you will be spat out of this area, the Void, as I like to call it. You won't have a choice, so there are several things we need to do in that very short time span. I would have come sooner, but you looked so happy I could barely bring myself to interrupt."

"Thank you for giving us that time," said Lily. "We've learned so much about our little boy," she pointedly ignored Harry's 'harrumph' of protest at being called a little boy, "and are so proud of him. We also learned a lot about Steve and how Harry found a small family with him." She smiled down at Harry, never letting go of him.

"Okay, so what do you have to tell me?" Harry pried himself away from Lily's grasp, though she kind of ended up being dragged along the floor behind him. James once again laughed out loud, before 'detaching his limpet' as he so eloquently put it.

"Tell, give, teach, there's more than just one. The first order of business is to give you the Hallows." A shimmering hooded cloak suddenly rested on Harry's shoulder, fastened at his collarbones by a silver brooch. A wand holster circled his arm, containing what could only be the Elder Wand. Upon closer inspection, the brooch housed the resurrection stone, while the cloak he now wore was the one he'd owned since his first year at Hogwarts. "How does that feel?"

"I feel quite normal, actually."

"Just give it a second."

"Um, okay...oh!" A strange tingling filled Harry, from his head to his toes. All of a sudden, he could see everything.

Everything.

It caused a splitting pain to crop up in his head, which only became worse when he tried to focus on specific things. Who knew that seeing the lifespan of a leaf could cause suck blinding agony? He only became aware of his surroundings once someone began tapping his shoulder vigorously.

Light flooded his vision and Harry realised that he must have fainted. Lily, James and Eira were all standing above him. Lily and James looked to be rather worried, while Eira was nodding in bemusement.

"There it is. Now you feel it. Don't worry, it doesn't happen again. It just takes a second, or in your case fifteen minutes, for the magic to...bond with you, let's say that. You did expel all of your magic from your body, so the pain was to be expected. What I didn't see coming was you passing out all of a sudden. That doesn't normally happen."

"I'm fine now." Harry stood, wobbling slightly, before regaining his balance. "What else is there? Also, why has the cloak changed?"

"The cloak changed because that was the form most useful to you. It only changes for the true Master of Death, though, so that's a thing. What else I need to teach you is…"

And so for the next ten minutes, Eira quickly went over everything that Harry needed to know at that moment. They told him how he would gain new instincts, have occasional visions of life and death, and how to handle injuries. There were so many questions that Harry wanted to ask but was unable to get out. Eira told him that he would be able to discover them in due time. It wasn't like ht was short of it.

At last, it was time for Harry to say his teary farewell and return to the world that needed him.

As he hugged his parents for the last time for a long while, he said, "Thank you. Thank you so much." No tears were shed, as they'd already escaped, but at that moment Harry was filled with impossible amounts of joy, satisfaction and purpose.

"We love you, Harry," James said. "You've become a wonderful man. Never ever forget that."

"Don't come back here any time soon, okay? You go live your life, no matter how long it's going to be now." Harry nodded at Lily, smiling slightly. "Go live your life."

"I will." He embraced them one last time, before finally pulling away. "I love you."

When the world began to turn white, his parents and Eira fading along with it, Harry no longer held any doubt about what he had done.

* * *

Harry sucked in a great breath of air, coughing and spluttering as his body came back to life. For a moment, everything about his body and mind was slow, stiff, crooked. Thankfully, after a short while and a fair bit of stretching, it returned to normal. Well, as normal as his body could be now, considering how he'd just woken up from being dead, as well as the fact he could no longer die.

A quick swipe with his hand confirmed that he was swathed in the invisibility cloak, the brooch clipping it together, the Elder Wand secure in its holster. The three items were buzzing with untapped, endless energy. That energy now coursed through Harry, too, leaving him speechless at how unfamiliar it was. Yet at the same time, it felt like it was always meant to be. The missing puzzle piece. The last ingredient. The last brush-stroke in a painted masterpiece.

His eyes snapped open, taking in the room around him. It was plain white, almost luminescent. A table sat next to the bed, medical supplies lined up on it. light shone down from the ceiling. That would take a little getting used to. Harry turned his head to the side. Through squinted eyes, he saw a terrified looking SHIELD agent up against the walls. She was muttering, speaking through the comms. That was strange. He couldn't hear her. He tapped his ears, his hearing rushing back.

"He's woken up! How did he wake up? He was dead a minute ago. He's been dead for twelve hours! I need help here, please! Oh my gosh, he's looking at me. This is not normal!" She scurried into the corner as Harry swung himself into a sitting position. His bare feet brushed the cold ground. That was strange. Where were his shoes?

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," Harry reassured. "I've just had a little...power-up is all. Can you tell me where Natasha and Steve are?" She blinked owlishly at him. Harry tried again. "Black Widow and Captain America. Can you tell me where they are?"

"Why is he talking to me, he's supposed to be dead!" She began hyperventilating. Harry's eyebrows knitted together. How was this woman even considered to be a SHIELD Agent if she was freaking out like this? No, he needed to be rational. She was most likely a low-level agent, unfamiliar with the supernatural. He, himself, still wasn't the most familiar with it but was well versed in the magical side of supernatural. He needed to remind himself that this woman was most likely assigned to look after his dead body, nothing more. Him waking up and freaking her out wasn't in the gameplan, judging by her reaction.

"Give me your comm." Harry noticed, with a detached sort of interest, that his voice was hoarse and husky like he hadn't drunk water in a long time. Luckily, it was fixed with a short but intense coughing session. "Now." She didn't move, just whimpering in the corner. "I need it. I need to find where Black Widow and Captain America are, right now."

She raised a shaking hand to her ear, about to remove her comm. An offensively loud noise sounded outside the room. It was a thunderous boom that shook the ground. Doors rattled, glass shattered, objects fell off shelves. An alarm began blaring, circling alarms painting the room red.

People screamed.

There was no window in his current room. Harry made a split-second decision. "I'm sorry about freaking you out, I have to go." He gave the girl a smile, before sprinting out of the room. There had to be a window around here somewhere...there!

His jaw fell open at what he saw outside the window.

Aliens. There were actual, honest to Merlin, aliens flying around outside. And what ugly things they were. Covered in armour, grey flesh underneath, mouths in the middle of their faces open wide in a grotesque war cry. There were so many of them, all streaming out of a glowing portal splitting the sky above Stark Tower in two.

It didn't take a genius to deduce that the aliens were a hostile force. Everywhere they went, buildings blew up, people cried out in fear and devastation reigned. There were people fighting back, but so far the fight looked futile. Harry realised that the battle had to be where Steve and Natasha were.

He needed to get out there and join the fight. He wasn't going to stand by while innocents were hurt. Aliens or not, they were a threat. No time to ask questions. With a twitch of the Elder Wand, which now felt warm and alive (a stark comparison to the other times he'd held it), the window in front of his shattered. Harry sprinted towards it, leaping out and landing on one of the flying vehicles that the aliens drove.

Time to see what these new powers could do.

* * *

A deep grunt forced its way out of Harry's chest as he crashed into the side of the flying vehicle. With the speed it was going, Harry found himself losing his grip on the side of it and falling backwards. He desperately scrabbled for purchase. At the very last second, the second before he fell to his undeath, he found it in the tiny ridge of the very edge of the vehicle. His fingers turned white with the effort it took to hold on, legs flailing wildly, kicking at nothing but air.

The alien turned around, noticing Harry for the first time. Without taking one of its' ugly, armoured hand off the controls, it reached back for Harry, grabbing him by the cloak and dragging him upwards. The stench of its breath was unbearable. As soon as Harry was eye level with the creature, Harry grasped the Elder Wand and sent a wordless stinging hex right into the aliens' eye.

It roared in agony, clutching both hands to its' head. Harry dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch. He kicked the alien off the side of the vehicle. The awful screeching noise it made as it fell to the ground didn't even bother Harry. Now that was a new chance. Usually screams, no matter what side they came from, bothered Harry. It seemed that that was no longer the case.

There was no time to dwell on such things. The machine was spiralling out of control. It was only with a very handy semi-sticking charm applied to his feet that Harry was able to stay on board. Wind battered his face as he sprinted towards the controls, grabbing onto them. It couldn't be that hard to take control of it. In a split-second decision, Harry pulled the control stick back towards him, remembering the joysticks he used to see at the arcade he walked by on the way home from school.

Against all odds, the vehicle began to pull up. Not in enough time though. Harry only had time to whip his wand to the right, casting a cushioning charm, before he crashed into the rubble-filled street.

Dust, thick and grey, filled the air. It wormed its way into Harry's nose. He started coughing, great hacking noises that filled the surrounding area. The pain came next, infiltrating every little part of his body. That was going to be a killer ache tomorrow. He cracked open his eyes.

Well.

That damage was nothing to laugh at. Piles of crushed up concrete caved in cars and shattered glass surrounded him. Mixed in with the normal destruction was alien waste, gnarled metal reaching out like the fingers of a hungry, bloodthirsty witch desperate for children.

Speaking of children, a small squeak sounded behind Harry. He whirled around. Standing in front of him was a small girl, no older than five, silently bawling her eyes out. Blond hair stood out against soot-stained skin, eyes as bright as crystals. What in Merlin's name was she doing out here? Scratch that. How was she even alive? If he'd crashed just a metre to the left…

"Hey, are you alright?" He kneeled down, gently wiping the tears off her face. She sniffled, shaking her head. "Okay. We're going to get you out of here, to someplace safe. Do you know where your parents are?" Another shake of the head. "That's okay. We'll find them."

Gentle as can be, Harry scooped the tiny girl up. Her fingers curled into the soft material of the invisibility cloak. An emotion, despair almost, shot up into his brain. He could focus on that later. Right now, he needed to find the poor girl's parents. With the battle raging on around them, vehicles roaring by, aliens soaring high, gunshot ringing through the scarlet-stained sky, Harry was surprised she didn't collapse in fear or desperation.

There! On the side of the road, cowering inside a small coffee house, was a group of people. Ten at the most, all of them adults wearing suits that were probably pristine early that morning. He rushed over, dodging a piece of metal that fell from the sky, accompanied by a screeching alien.

"Do you know any of these people?" The little girl looked around. Her eyes lit up as she laid eyes on a distraught woman with the same blonde hair as her. Harry ran towards the woman. The second she saw them she let out a strangled cry, surging towards them. The girl was plucked out of Harry's arms, slowly rocked back and forth.

"Alena, Alena my baby," the woman cried. "You're okay, shh, it's okay. We're going to be alright." She looked up at Harry. "Thank you so much. May I ask who you are?"

Harry paused for a second before answering. "I'm just someone who's helping in the fight." He nodded at the woman, waved at Alena (that was a nice name, he would have to file it away for later) and sprinted back into the fray, invisibility cloak flapping in his wake.

A loud noise, sounding like a horn, filled the air. Harry looked up at the portal and felt his stomach drop. Hundreds, thousands, more aliens were flying through. Following them were giant creatures, hundreds of metres long, swimming through the sky. Covered in armour, ugly, misshapen mouths filled with pointed grey teeth, limbs on the bottom that seemed to serve as rudders.

And one of them was coming straight towards Harry.

* * *

_Hey, here is part one of the chapter. Was originally meant to be two parts, but I didn't want to keep you waiting too long. Part two should be out in a few days, as I actually have parts of it written (what is this thing called writing a chapter before the other one is put out?). It will feature Harry fighting both a Chitauri Leviathan, a showdown with Loki (whoop whoop) and Harry revealing his new powers. I think you'll enjoy it. _

_After I have finished what is planned for the Infinity Saga, this story is going to be focusing more on the domestic side of things. That's what I originally set out to do. I'll especially be focusing on the relationship between Harry and Steve, as well as developing Harry and Natasha's relationship._

_Sincerely until a few days,  
Mariadoria_


	27. Loki v Harry

_The inspiration for this story comes from 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years' by Njchrispatrick. You should go check it out. It's cool. _

* * *

The monstrous creature swam through the air towards Harry. Beady black eyes, filled with undisguised malice mingling with madness, focussed on Harry, ready to kill. Behind it, buildings fell and crumbled, leaving nothing but destruction in its ever-growing wake. A great war cry filled the air. It came from the creature. Windows hummed in their frames then shattered, tinkling to the ground to join the rest of the ruined city. An ungodly choir struck up as the blood-curdling screams of citizens mixed with the creature's roar. Together it was enough to give anyone nightmares, including Harry.

Harry swore vigorously, freezing in fear. His feet seemed to be stuck to the pavement, unable to move. A lead weight settled in his stomach. Never before had he seen a creature so large, plated in seemingly impenetrable armour, swimming through the air. It was like a larger, flying version of the basilisk from his second year….the basilisk! If he could defeat that when he was twelve, he sure as hell could defeat on of these at thirty-one. And it wasn't like he could die. Sure, feeling pain was still a thing, and caution was not something he would just throw to the wind, but now he was able to fight with just that little bit more reckless abandon.

And maybe that was all he needed right now.

Harry whirled around, searching for an area where people weren't. Where he seemed to be was fairly empty, save from the people now fleeing the coffee shop behind him. Right, his priority was to keep the leviathan away from them while they ran to safety. He started sprinting in the opposite direction of the people. The leviathan followed him down a side street that was far too small for it. With every stroke of its great tail, the tops of buildings came tumbling down, crushing everything beneath it.

An inkling of a plan began to form. The chances of it working were lost to Harry, as he didn't know the capabilities of these things or how strong they were. He would just have to do it and hope against hope it worked. If it didn't, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

With a roar, it started moving faster, becoming nearer and nearer to Harry with every move. He could almost feel its' warm breath on the back of his neck, almost feel its' grey, chipped teeth closing around his body and thrashing him around like a ragdoll. It was completely set on destroying Harry, who must have been nothing more than a gnat to it. Well, that gnat was going to show it some manners.

Up ahead was a skyscraper that wasn't destroyed, great pillars of concrete holding up its base. Harry, all while still sprinting, pointed his wand at the building and shouted, "_Homenum Revelio!_" To his utter relief, there was no one in the building, nor the skyscrapers surrounding it. They all must have evacuated in record time. He laughed in relief, never stopping his sprint.

The plan continued to form. Little pieces came to him, all compiling into what Harry considered a very good plan for it being put together in less than a minute. He skidded to a stop and turned to face the leviathan. His feet were nearly ripped out from under him because of the debris. He kept his balance, straightened his back and held his ground.

Wand outstretched towards the monster, Harry narrowed his eyes. He needed to focus on the fins. There was a chink in the armour to allow for movement. All he needed to do was aim well at it and put all the power he had into the spells.

"_DIFFINDO!" _He turned his wand to the left fin and repeated the curse. Both spells rocketed out of his wand.

That was all it took for the leviathan to careen off to the side. It's fins now hung uselessly, holding on only by sinewy ropes of muscle and fat. A stump of bone stuck out, stark white against the grey flesh, grey air, grey atmosphere. The smell of rotting flesh filled the air. It almost overpowered Harry's senses with how foul it was. More buildings became rubble as the massive tail flailed through the air, desperately trying to control its' course. There were other fins, but without the main ones, there was nothing the leviathan could do to stop its' descent.

With an almighty '_BOOM!_ it crashed into the skyscraper. Harry almost saw it in slow motion as the building was standing on second, tipping sideways the next. Within ten seconds, there was nothing in the sky except dust. It was an avalanche of cement, glass, office supplies and...bodies Mutilated, torn up, charred bodies, eyes glazed over, blood congealing in small globules on their greying, ashen skin. Harry felt a tug on his heartstrings as he realised why no one had shown up with the spell he'd cast.

His attention was drawn away from the bodies as the leviathan writhed under the weight of the building, roaring out in pain. The armour it wore was protecting it from fully dying. Harry was going to change that.

"_Accio Head Armour._" The plates of armour zoomed towards Harry, who deftly dogged them. They clattered to the ground behind him, finding a home with bent metal that used to be a car. A terrible squishing noise and then the concrete crushed the head of the leviathan. Blood sprayed outwards, twisted brushstrokes painting the street red. Some of it splattered up onto Harry's face. It was so hot it started burning against his skin. Hurriedly, he wiped it off his face. The burning sensation slowly faded, a faint tingling left behind.

The plan had worked. Harry sighed in relief, barely believing his luck.

_shhhick_

A rock shifted behind him. Just a tiny topple. But it was enough.

Harry whirled around, a smirk playing on his lips. At least ten aliens surrounded him, now screeching out a guttural war cry that could be heard streets over. They twitched, dark little eyes focussed on Harry. He stared right back at them, raising his wand, ready to cast a spell. It took him a second to realise it, but he hadn't felt this alive in years.

Huh.

Time to show these aliens who in charge.

* * *

He didn't have to wait for long.

Within ten seconds, they all began firing at him. They wielded strange weapons, a cross between a staff and a rifle. Blue bolts of energy fizzled through the air, crackling and snapping towards Harry. He summoned a spherical shield with a flick of his wand. The chitauri projectiles bounced off it. With every hit, the shield illuminated gold, a pinging noise similar to the peal of a bell accompanying it.

Sitting underneath a strong shield was going to do Harry no good. The aliens were getting closer, advancing with every shot. He couldn't stay under here forever. They couldn't stay alive forever. It was clear they recognised the threat he posed, as there were so many surrounding him. Maybe they wanted to stop him from getting to Stark Tower, which was where he needed to go.

Harry looked up, locking eyes with one of the aliens. It stopped in its tracks. Harry smiled, cocking his head to the side. How long would they be able to last? He dropped the shield. He raised his wand, grinning.

"Let's dance."

Harry became a deadly, glittering whirlwind, the shine of his cloak combining with the fire of his spells. The light reflected in his eyes. One after another, the aliens fell, like marionettes with the strings cut. Their weapons skittered across the asphalt. Their war cries, once a victorious roar, fell until there was only one.

Only one remaining. It stood in front of him, seven feet tall, skin covered with festering wounds, chinks visible in the dulled, scratched battle armour. The eyes locked onto him and a war cry escaped from its terrible maw.

Harry could sense the death, the destruction, clinging onto it. It disgusted him to no end. Made him want to end it, just as it had ended those innocents now decorating the city like the nightmare version of baubles on a withering Christmas tree. All it would take...all it would take was...was a...single...spell...No.

_NO!_

Harry took a step back, wand still held up at the creature. It seemed to be hesitating, pondering why he would suddenly stop his crusade, leave it as the only member standing. Without taking his eyes off the creature, Harry was having in an internal battle.

No.

He couldn't become consumed by those thoughts. Eira warned him about this. It would be so easy to fail. Within a single moment, he could become lost to the swirling black whirlpool that was his newfound power. Over time it would lessen until he had total control. But now, it was tempting. The temptation was so big. All he had to do was reach out and touch it. That wasn't something he was going to do. Not something he would give into. Just because this...creature standing in front of him was coated with desolation didn't mean he would let the primal instinct inside of him take over. He would kill the creature, then droves more, but wouldn't become something worse. New York City needed protecting, he rose to the occasion.

A blue bolt flew through the air. Harry twitched his wand, a protego on his lips, but was too late. It impacted with his chest, throwing him backwards. Over and over he rolled, grunting and gasping. Embers burnt on his chest, sitting proudly on the massive burn mark. Oh, _Merlin,_ it hurt. It was up there with the Cruciatus curse. It took a quick aguamenti charm and it was no longer burning, just smouldering. Smoke lazily spiralled into the air, joining the cacophony and grit of battle. The ache began.

"Fuck!" Harry bit the words out. He couldn't let that happen again. The middle of the battle was the worst possible time to become lost in thoughts. The last times he could remember that happening was during his many battles against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and then again during his hand to hand combat training at SHIELD. Each time it happened, he was dealing with a new skill. Each time, he thought too hard, getting inside his head.

_Never again._

Crunching footsteps came closer to Harry. An alien rifle pointed down at his face. Blue lights extended along the barrel as it powered up to fire. Harry acted first. A quick charm of _Lumos Maxima _had the alien scrambling back, clutching at its' eyes. The rifle lay forgotten on the street. It roared in agony. Harry took this time to cast a quick, "_Stupefy._" It fell to the ground, unaware. From there, a quick, specifically directed cutting charm to the temple killed it immediately. Harry glared down at it. An important lesson had been retaught thanks to the vile creature.

A warm, slithering feeling on his torso brought him back to his injury. He needed to take a better look at it. Even though he couldn't die, it was evident he could hurt. He brought the hood of the Invisibility Cloak up overhead and cast a silencing charm on his feet. It would be almost impossible for someone to find him, lest they knew how to look through the enchantments. Harry reckoned the only person in the city who could do that was Loki.

Harry stowed away to a side alley. There was no one down here. Just to be sure no one came in, he cast a very quick, basic notice-me-not on himself. That would do for now. The aching in his chest only intensified as he fell to the ground. Point-blank range. He'd been hit, shot, at point-blank range. It would usually kill a man. For Harry, it probably just set him back a few minutes as he healed the hole in his chest.

_Holy shit. _

There was an actual hole in his chest. Muscles were knitting themselves together, peeling black skin returning to his usual pallor. Organs appeared, starting to work, pumping and slowly expanding. Skin regrew, stretching over the wounds until there was no indication of the injury he'd just received except the throbbing ache and the flaking blood that just a minute ago ran a river down his chest.

What a strange way for the powers to manifest themselves. He wasn't complaining, though. All it took was a quick numbing spell and the pain was gone for the next two hours. He stood, running a hand through his hair. A small dust cloud plumed up. A small smile played at his lips. The one constant through all of this was his ridiculous hair. It felt nice to have one thing that never changed.

Stark Tower loomed on the horizon. Between the rooftops he could see the blue beam streaking through the sky, the huge portal still letting every manner of alien out to wreak havoc on the city. Through the hoard, he could see nothing but blackness, a vast expanse that sent shivers down his spine. Being out there, in that nothingness, Harry couldn't imagine anything worse.

Despite this, he had to get over there, to the blue light that was so bright it couldn't be human. Wherever it came from, whatever powered it, was immensely dangerous. He could tell that even from kilometres away. And he couldn't let his ego, the temptation, get in the way. He would be fighting two battles today. One for the fate of humanity and one for the fate of his morality.

He ran out of the alley, wishing that he had his broom on him. Unfortunately, it was back at the Triskelion, from when Fury had asked to examine it. To summon it would take far too long. Running was the second-best option. Every other street he struck down an alien, leaving them writhing on the ground. He didn't stop running the entire time. Stark Tower was where he was going and nothing was going to stop him. Not the hordes of aliens, not the leviathans swimming overhead, not the distant figure of Loki on a flying vehicle, glinting green and gold, being chased by Natasha―

_Loki._

Inordinate amounts of rage flooded Harry at the sight of the man who dared to control his mind. It started in his brain and washing into the rest of his body. His grip on his wand tightened, so hard his all colour filtered out of his knuckles, turning them white. Teeth clenched, lips pressed together, sprinting towards the vehicle, wand outstretched.

"_ACCIO LOKI!" _

He didn't even know if it would work. Never before had he tried summoning a person. Harry felt the magic swinging through the air, looking for the target. For a few seconds, it drifted aimlessly, before latching onto the target. Loki flew backwards, falling rapidly towards the ground, arms flailing wildly. Harry didn't bother casting a cushioning charm as the 'god' impacted the ground.

Loki didn't cry out, nor did he laugh. For a second, he just lay there, a crumpled mess on the ground. At a passing glance, he could easily be mistaken for dead. Harry knew better. To kill Loki would take more than a large fall that would easily off a normal human. Loki was anything but normal. This was proven when Loki began chuckling, dark and thick, filled with amusement.

"It seems that my little minion has found a way to get free." He pulled himself to his feet, standing at his full height. The sceptre containing the power source that let his mind be controlled extended to be taller than Loki. The oval at the top glinted fiercely. "And how he's come back to challenge me. How _quaint." _Loki spat the last word, glaring at Harry. Arrogance and madness mixed in his eyes.

"You controlled my mind, me coming back to challenge you is anything but quaint."

"Well, if that's what you want, Potter. You're walking towards your death."

Harry laughed dryly. "I assure you I'm not."

"You dare―"

"I do."

Loki snarled and leapt towards Harry at an impossible speed. Harry did the same, readying his wand to strike.

Time to take Loki down a few notches.

* * *

Natasha, having just gained control of one of the Chitauri chariots, was chasing Loki through the ruins of what used to be New York City. The wind whipped her hair and made her eyes water. She pushed through it. She could push through anything. Her training meant she finished any mission no matter what had to be done. Right now, her mission was to get the Sceptre off Loki and close the portal.

So when Loki was suddenly pulled off his chariot and drawn towards the ground, making a strange noise that made her think of a pterodactyl getting strangled, she almost crashed into a skyscraper made almost entirely of glass. She pulled up just in time. The glass turned to smithereens, blown outwards by the force of the chariots engines. Natasha looked down at the ground to where Loki had fallen and almost fell off herself in shock.

Stalking slowly towards Loki was an unmistakable figure, swathed in a cloak made of stars, green eyes almost glowing from the power flowing through his body. There was something different about him, something darker, something more distant and cold. His presence was powerful. She could feel it from up here. It was endless, no beginning and no end, everything and nothing, eternity and infinity, all balled up into one person. Though she couldn't see it, the look on his face must have been something to behold as he talked to Loki.

But none of that mattered.

Harry was alive. Something stirred inside of her. Natasha believed that love was for children, that attachments shouldn't be formed. They got in the way of missions. Ever since being recruited by SHIELD, that mentality began to fade slightly, though she didn't let anyone know. When it came to Harry, it faded almost completely. He made her feel warm. He filled a hole she didn't know needed filling. When he died, the hole opened up again.

Now it was filled again.

She put her finger to her ear, speaking into the comm sitting there. "Harry's alive and fighting Loki."

The explosion of shock from the earpiece made her wince. Despite this, she couldn't stop the smile from spreading over her face. He was alive.

Then she heard Steve on the comm, almost sobbing. "_Thank you, Natasha._"

She sent a 'you're welcome' his way and was about to join in the fight below when a horde of Chitauri roared around the corner, firing at her. She would take care of them first then join in the fight below.

Good luck, Potter. Let our training pay off, she thought.

_God, let it pay off._

* * *

Harry deftly leapt to the side, avoiding what would have been the sceptre cleaving straight through him and piercing out the back. He jumped a few steps back, casting the first spell that came to his head. In hindsight, it wasn't the best spell he could have chosen.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!_" The scarlet spell rocketed through the air, hitting the sceptre with a _pting_. Loki staggered backwards but the spell did nothing. He raised the sceptre and shot a bolt of energy towards Harry. It hit him square in the chest, Harry'is shield too slow to react. Fighting the aliens had made him complacent, his reactions slow. Compared to Loki they were like a fly in a spider's web.

He tumbled to the ground, hissing in pain. _Throbbing pain again, numbing charm dispelled. _The energy left scorch marks on his chest, on the edges of the cloak. Sparks flew outwards. Blood trickled down his temple from a cut he knew would scar if he didn't heal it properly. He blinked in shock. How powerful did something have to be to leave scorch marks on the cloak? It was a Hallow...he was going to have to play his cards. Then there was the feeling of _blue, be mine, you're mine now, obey _crawling into his mind. Harry growled and pushed it out. The light exploded around him in a circle, ricocheting on the ground and walls. He seemed to be immune to the controlling properties of the gem.

_Perfect._

Loki was staring at the sceptre in shock, eyes wider than Harry had ever seen them. If he looked close enough, he could almost see a look of fear on the man's face. It was covered up so quickly that he couldn't see, though. Harry didn't care. He took the moment of distraction to launch a volley of spells at Loki.

"_Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Sectumsempra! Stupefy!_"

Loki came back to himself and flipped out of the way of the first three. This sent him right into the path of the last stupefy. Harry internally cheered. That was a total accident, but a welcome one. It hit him right in the chest. Loki staggered backwards again, snarling in anger.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Potter. I am a god! You can't think the pitiful parlour tricks that you call magic could defeat me, Loki, God of Mischief and Lies, chaos incarnate." Loki launched another attack at Harry, swinging at his head with the sceptre. "You're going to have to use something new. At least make this interesting for me."

"Merlin's beard, save the speech. I've heard this a million times before." Harry sent another three stunners at Loki's chest. Two of them hit. He looked visibly weakened, recovering slightly longer than last time. His breath came in unsteady puffs. "Looks like I've found a weakness, aye."

Loki's eyes widened and he increased his attack. "I have no weaknesses! I am immortal, so much more than you will ever be. At least try to keep up."

"As far as I'm concerned, I am. Have you landed a solid hit on me yet?" A quick bombarda at Loki's feet sent him flying into the air. Harry transfigured the debris into crows, which flew at Loki and began furiously pecking at his flesh. Their eyes almost glowed with malevolence, just enough to get Loki to surrender. Harry wasn't fighting to kill. He knew that the Avengers would want Loki alive so they could interrogate him and close the portal.

Loki cried out. Not in pain, nor anguish, but pure unadulterated rage. Crazily aimed bolts of energy, so numerous that Harry was forced to retreat under a fortified shield, flew out of the cloud of crows. With every hit, it's integrity fizzed and Harry could feel the strength of it fading. There had to be something better he could do...the crows were now on the ground, fading away...aha!

He quickly dispelled the shield and pulled the Cloak over his head, becoming completely invisible. No footsteps could be heard from him. Harry crept around Loki, who was now on his feet, looking a little worse for wear. The grand clothes he wore, now ripped and tattered. Plates of gold lay uselessly on the ground. His helmet was gouged. Harry stifled a snort. No matter how many times he saw that helmet it never became less ridiculous of ostentatious.

"Run away, Potter? I knew you were nothing more than a coward. Where have you gone?" Harry sniggered at how Loki was completely lost, spinning around in utter confusion. "I can't sense your magic. Have you just up and left like a coward?"

_Holy shit. _

The invisibility cloak hid his magical signature? That was going to come in handy in the future, Harry could just feel it.

Oh, this was going to be good.

He tip-toed closer to Loki, right behind him, then brought his wand up. A whisper was all he needed for a huge chunk of concrete to dislodge from a building above him. It sped towards Loki, so fast it made a whistling noise. Harry rolled out of the way just in time to not get hit himself.

Something snagged onto his foot, holding him back. A hand around his ankle. Iron grip. So tight his skin twisted and burned. Without even looking back Harry knew it was Loki. He was flipped over onto his back, Loki's face so close he could smell his breath. It didn't smell good. With his other hand, Loki levitated the boulder above his head.

"You're going to have to do better than that. I'll show you how to do better. Watch very carefully, and take notes." Loki grinned, somehow

The boulder came down faster than Harry could imagine. He could see his own crushed body in his mind's eye, broken and battered. Unmoving. _Unbreathing. _

"_WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!_" He put all the power he had into the spell. The boulder stopped a hair breadths from his face. It was so close that he could see each stone's shade, the wires snaking through cracked pipes and ants frantically crawling. "_Depulso._" Nothing happened, his magic fighting with Loki's. He poured even more power into it, utilising his new abilities. The air around them began to grow cold, a slight breeze that whispered with the voices of the dead settling in the street. "_Depulso! DEPULSO!"_ Finally, Harry launched it away. It landed halfway up a skyscraper, leaving behind a great crater.

That was a close one. He would have to be more careful.

Harry shook his leg, trying to get out of Loki's grip. It was a futile effort. Loki pinned him to the ground by his shoulders, close enough that Harry could see a slight blue ring around his iris.

"Nothing you can do will make you win. It's over!"

"Not yet. You need to stop declaring victory in the middle of a fight. _Diffindo!_" Right at Loki's stomach. It tore through the armour and left a slight mark on his skin. Harry then kneed him in the groin and cast another spell, one he rarely used for how powerful it was. He doubted it would incapacitate Loki for long, but it would give him all the time he needed. "_Electricae!_" Lightning leapt out of the end of Harry's wand, latching onto Loki with the fervor of a dog to a bone.

While Loki cried out, this time in pain, Harry shimmered out from under him, twirling around and hitting him with another two stunners for good measure. Loki hissed curses at Harry, dragging himself to his feet. Harry shot out another stunner, weakening Harry further. Finally, he seemed to be making some difference to Loki's seemingly endless endurance.

"ENOUGH!" Loki slammed the sceptre down on the ground. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty illusions of him sprang up, surrounding him, all laughing. Golden and green, deadly and keen, all intent on driving Harry to insanity. That wasn't going to happen. He needed to see through them, see the truth, remember what Eira said to him what seemed like aeons ago...

"_Remember, Harry, trust your instincts. There are so many things you are going to be able to do. You're going to be able to see through things that aren't real, see things that have happened, that will happen. Trust yourself and things will become right again."_

Harry closed his eyes, tuning out the maniacal cackling boring into his brain. Concentrate. Focus.

_Breathe. _

In. Out.

In. Out.

_Repeat. Concentrate._

His eyes snapped open. A deadly green, all traces of the previous sky blue gone. They almost glowed with power, boring into everything around them, every one. The whispering wind picked up, paper whipping around. Harry's blond hair moved in time with it. He could see the truth, see where Loki was. He could see through all the illusions, though they still played sentry. He could see the real Loki, standing tall and proud still cackling, not even realising that Harry had already won. He felt something tugging at the power within him, trying to bring him down, make him be one with the temptation.

_Can't. Give. In._

He wasn't done seeing the _truth _yet.

Visions of death swam through his mind. People screaming, structures falling, all caused by Loki's hand. All while he was laughing, revelling in their pain and misery, their terror so thick you could breathe it in and it caused your bones to shake. Anger, black and deadly, began to fill Harry. How dare Loki think he was in the right, that he was leading Earth to a newer future. How dare he think that he could be a merciful leader?

"You're right. I've had enough. I've seen what you've done and am not impressed." Harry looked directly at Loki and waved a hand. The illusions all faded away. Loki's eyes widened. "It's time for you to leave. You need to surrender."

"I will never surrend―agh!" A wandless _Incarcerous _bound Loki from his shoulders to his feet. Harry summoned the sceptre to him. The second it was held in his hand, an intoxicating wave of power washed over him, calling out to him. A deep rumbling voice sounded in his head, twining in with the temptation that festered deep within him...

"_Come to me. You can fulfil your dreams, your wildest desire with me. You are a worthy successor to that pathetic creature who calls himself a God. I will give you all that you desire and more if you serve me."_

Harry blocked the voice out, refusing to fall prey to the power of whatever was within the gem. It stilled wormed around in his head, poking and prodding at his defences. Whatever it was, Harry seemed to be immune to it now, after breaking free of its constraints by becoming the Master of Death.

He held it proudly in his hand, a vision of pure power. It crackled around him, silver sparks dancing over his skin. His eyes glowed an ethereal green. At that moment, Harry truly, _truly, _accepted who he was now and what it meant to be the Master of Death. To become a protector, a guardian, someone who gains revenge for the lives of those slaughtered in cold blood.

An Avenger.

And then the temptation disappeared. Gone in an instant, in the snap of a pair of fingers. Nothing left but the realisation that this was always what he was meant to be all along.

"You...what are you? How can you hold the staff and not go mad?" Loki spoke up again, still fighting despite the impenetrable ropes around him. "How?"

Harry stalked forward, the cloak swishing at his feet. The stone, ensconced within the brooch, hummed. The wand, clutched in his right hand, crackled with the same sparks that clung to his skin and found a home within his eyes. He knelt in front of Loki, smiling that small smile that victory brought.

"I'm someone who doesn't take shit from anyone. I'm the one who defeated you, Loki Odinson, a supposed god." Loki hissed at the surname, Harry paying no mind to it. "I am the one who was prepared to sacrifice everything I was to do what was right for the world.

"I'm the motherfucking Master of Death."

* * *

**One Week Later…**

"_Nobody knows the name of this mysterious new hero. He has been reported to wear a cloak of stars, fight with a wand and have green eyes. He saved a little girl named Alena Scott, who says that he was very nice to her. Other reports have stated that he 'reeked of death, but in a good way. Several names have been proposed for him, one including the 'Death Star,' which will not be happening, due to copyrights from Lucasfilm. A man who was witness to the fight between him and Loki has come forward and said that he referred to himself as 'The Master of Death.'"_

Steve clicked the television off. Three days earlier, Harry admitted how he escaped from Loki's control, how he had theories about him be immune to the sceptre and why he now looked as if he was in his early twenties. He was still getting his head around the impossible facts, as well as how Harry now looked just younger than him. The new powers he'd acquired did unnerve him slightly, but Steve was sure he would get used to it.

On his left was Harry, and on his right was Natasha. Clint was somewhere up high, Tony was in the kitchen failing at making coffee with Bruce, while Thor was on Asgard. They were all staying in the communal levels of Stark Tower, now renamed Avengers Tower.

Nothing needed to be said between the three of them, for there was nothing to be said. Though the entire city needed to be repaired and Earth would never be the same again, there was a sense of peace that settled in their chests. It wouldn't last, they knew that. But at the moment, that didn't matter.

At the moment, things were good.

* * *

_Wow, I'm finally done. This took so long, and I hope it shows in the writing. This is the end of the first Avengers movie arc, and it will continue in around a month or two. I want to spend the next few weeks focusing on family interactions, mundane things, which is what I wrote this story about. Also, Harry and Steve strengthening their relationship. I am also writing a new end to this series, as I have a different vision for how these characters go and what they do. With Harry in the mix, how can you not expect it to go differently? This was a labour of love. I hope you enjoyed it. _

_I was going to add a bit where Harry hexed Loki to have actual horns growing out of his head, but I couldn't find an appropriate place to slot it in, so I decided to write it very quickly below:_

* * *

"Um, Harry, what did you do?" asked Natasha. "Scratch that, how did you do it?" Sitting before them was Loki, still bound head to toe. The object of Natasha's questioning was the antlers sticking out of his head. They were gold in colour and melded with his skin.

"Oh, nothing much. He just seemed so fond of his helmet that I decided to give him the real thing."

"And why are you wearing his helmet, then?"

"I'm keeping it as a trophy and had nowhere to put it?"

Guffaws followed his statement, as well as an outraged grunt from Loki. If the gag wasn't on, Harry was sure the words would have been crass and vulgar. He didn't care. Just the sight of Loki with honest to Merlin antlers was hilarious enough.

* * *

_Why not come and join my discord server? The link is __ /Kb9zJgV. Just enter it in and you should be good to go. We discuss fanfiction and it is a place to promote your own stories. It's really fun, in my opinion. _

_I'm starting the question of the week again: If you could be in any fictional universe, what would it be and what would your role be? Do blatant self-inserts and OP versions of yourself, those are really fun._

_Sincerely,_  
_A very happy Mariadoria_

_P.S: Thank you for all the reviews and read, favourites and follows. It means the world to me. I also really like constructive criticism. If you don't like something, be constructive about it and how I could improve. That's really good. :)_


	28. Shenangans of the Avengers Kind

_This story is based off _**A Happy Accident: 70 Years **_by the amazing_ **Njchrispatrick. **_It's cool, you should go check it out. Please do. :)_

* * *

The hallway that Harry, Steve, Natasha and Tony were standing in was bathed with sunlight. It made a picturesque scene, but the sweltering heat was something different. Or, at least it would be if Tony didn't have a magical (and wasn't that ironic, thought Harry) air conditioning system installed in every single room of the newly named Avengers Tower.

"Alright, step right up, step right up," bellowed Tony, gesturing grandly down the hallway. Natasha and Steve kept blank faces at his antics, while Harry didn't bother to suppress his slight smirk. The more time he spent with Tony, the more he grew on him. "This is where three of you will be staying. Natasha, Steve and Harry, if you will follow me." He donned an invisible top hat, swivelled around and began walking down the hallway like he owned a marching band.

Okay, that one was new.

"Do you have to be so dramatic? We're just going to the rooms," groaned Steve, putting his head in his hand. He was still getting used to Tony's dramatic side, which hadn't been shown before the Battle of New York. Six weeks had passed since then. He couldn't blame Tony, though. There was an air of optimism and satisfaction, tinged with goofiness. It was...nice.

Tony looked back over his shoulder. "Always, Mr America, always." He kept walking. "And these are far more than rooms. I've poured my heart and soul into creating entire suites bigger than a whole house for each of you to stay in. They're customised to each of your tastes. Tell me that they are just rooms now."

Holy shit. The size of a house? Talk about being spoiled. Although, Harry supposed, when you moved in with a billionaire who owned his skyscraper, luxury was the name of the game.

"An entire house," murmured Natasha, echoing Harry's thoughts. "Impressive. I thought that they would be bigger though." Steve choked down a snicker.

"I am offended!" Tony gasped. "Can someone get this cretin away from me?" He looked around for an invisible someone. JARVIS, who usually would have made a snarky comment, chose this moment to stay silent.

"Are you though?" Harry spoke up for the first time, laughing.

"And how would you know that?" countered Tony, crossing his arms.

"You're you." A simple statement, yet a truer one was never spoken.

Tony paused for a second. "Fair enough. I suppose if you do know me you will come to expect opulence with everything I do. You're not wrong, in fact―"

"Let's skip all of this and just see our rooms, okay? Okay!" Natasha said, recognising the beginning of a 'battle of wits' when she saw one and knowing exactly how to stop it in its' tracks. "We can do this later."

"Alright, alright, little miss impatient, here we go." Tony scowled at her and waved at the doors of the rooms around him. "First on the right is Harry, second on the right is Steve. First on the left." His eyes gleamed with excitement. "Right across from Harry, is Natasha." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Umm...what do you mean by that?" Harry tried to play dumb. Tony saw right through the facade. It wasn't a surprise. There weren't any secrets you could hide around here.

"I'm not blind, Harry, I can see your feelin―agh!" Harry flicked the Elder Wand, which appeared in his hand at a thought (it was quite handy, now that he thought about it, and infinitely more pleasant now that the wand didn't feel cold and lifeless) and a bolt of yellow light sped towards Tony. He yelped in surprise as he shrunk, the yelp very quickly turning into an infuriated quack. Where Tony previously stood was a severely ungainly duck.

"Will he be alright?" chuckled Steve, bending down to be on the level of the duck. "He's quite cute isn't he?" Tony's eyes widened as he surged forward. He tried to nip at Steve's fingers, however, he ended up tripping over his own webbed feet.

"He'll be fine, just a bit flustered when we turn him back. His brain is still fully human in there." The duck let out an indignant quack. "I think he'll have a few words for me. Oh, look! How cute. He's trying to attack my ankle." Harry was so busy laughing at Tony that he didn't notice Natasha giving him an appraising look out of the corner of her eye and the slight, knowing smile that spread over her lips.

"Harry, come on, check out your room. We can deal with Dony later," said Natasha, leaping out of her realisation.

_What?_

"Dony?" asked Harry and Steve at the same time, in the same tone, with the same inflexions. The only different thing was the accents.

Natasha blinked. "Okay, first of all, that was so similar it was almost freaky. Second, Dony. Duck-Tony? Combining the words? No one?" She waited for them to say something. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of the most awkward silence imaginable, Harry spoke up nervously.

"Oh, I get it."

She nodded. "Good."

"Doesn't mean I find it funny. Woah!" Harry dodged out of the way as Natasha lashed out at him. He frantically fiddled with the door handle, eventually opening it with a silent _Alohomora _and slipping into the room. He slammed it shut behind him.

That was close.

On the other side of the door, he could hear three people laughing raucously. Well, two people and a previously human duck. He didn't care. He was safe here, with an entire wall separating him from the extremely scary fist that belonged to an even scarier woman. Harry sank to the floor, grinning giddily. How long had it been since he'd felt like this? Light, floaty, content.

These thoughts were torn away by a strange thump on the other side of the wall. This reminded him to take a look at the room.

_Holy shit! _

It was...ginormous. Humongous. Magnificent. Far bigger than Tony had said. Windows stretched from the ceiling to the floor, a television that was far bigger than it had any right being sat on the wall. A large couch, cushy and overstuffed was in front of it, surrounded by other chairs. Harry stood and walked through the state of the art kitchen, peeking into the bedroom. It was large, like the rest of the apartment, but not overly so. On the wall was an empty pinboard just waiting to be filled with photos and banners.

Okay, so this was nice.

Harry went back to the door and tentatively opened it. He shot a quick spell that would reverse the transfiguration on Tony. In a whirl of colour, Tony was back, sitting on the floor with extremely dishevelled hair and crumpled clothes. There were still a few feathers hiding amongst his hair.

"That...was awesome! Why did you turn me back? I was just learning to fly." Ah. So that would explain the dull thumping Harry kept hearing.

"I liked the room enough that I decided to cut your tenure as a duck short. Thank you."

"Called it!"

* * *

"So what are we going to watch?" The questioning one was Steve.

"I don't know." The puzzled one was Harry.

"Ah." The curt one was Natasha.

And they were facing a huge problem.

They were all in Harry's room. All the provisions needed for a movie night were ready to go on the coffee table and cushy couch. There were blankets, pillows (feathered ones, courtesy of Tony, if they wanted to have a pillow fight) and endless amounts of unhealthy food. This was such a rare occasion that they decided to go all out. The thing was, they'd been so busy organising the extras that the most important thing slipped their minds.

They didn't know what movie to watch.

Thus ensued the frantic browsing. Natasha and Harry leapt onto their phones, while Steve just tried to turn his on. Somehow, he managed to make it spark and short out. This left the 'interneting' as Steve called it to the other two, while he wracked his mind for a movie or two that the others would enjoy.

"Five minutes then we have to have something!" called Harry. There wasn't a time constraint. There needed to be. If there wasn't, hours would be spent fruitlessly browsing for a movie and before they knew it, the night would fade into the day.

"Alright, alright, calm down, Potter."

The fight continued, with Harry finding something at the last minute, until the magical timer that Harry had set went off with a noise more piercing than the Caterwauling Charm. He shut it off.

"So, what did you get?"

Natasha smirked. "The superior option."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Very."

Steve just put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Alright, tell me what you've got,"

"The first two Terminator movies." She crossed her arms. "What have you got?"

"Star Wars."

"Hmm." She stopped to think for a second. "Those are tempting. But I still want to watch mine."

"Can you two just decide, for the love of all things bright and beautiful!" cried Steve, fed up with what would certainly become a massive debate. "Do paper scissors rock or something."

Natasha won.

And so for the next five and a half hours, they watched Sarah Connor being an absolute badass, the T-800 go from a terrifying enemy to the best ally and the sense of family that the movies managed to convey, despite being heavily action-oriented. Natasha somehow managed to quote everything in the movie, even the tiny lines. Harry had to admit, the movies were awesome. Perhaps not as awesome as Star Wars, but they were definitely up there and he would be going back to them in the future.

As the credits began to roll, with the three of them surrounded by junk food wrappers, Natasha suddenly spoke up.

"I used to think love was for children." She swallowed. "I was taught that I needed to be calm and collected, logic and deadliness above all, that connections to people were a detriment to the mission. The thing is, with the Avengers I have found a family. I know that may sound cheesy, but you guys mean that much to me. Tony, Bruce, Thor, Clint, you two goofballs." She playfully poked their sides. "You're my family."

For the rest of the night, until the darkness faded into the light, until the moon stopped leading the dance and the sun took her chance to lead, until the gleeful birdsong rose with the horizon, they lay in companionable silence, each realising that what Natasha had said was true. Oh, it was true.

It was so, so true.

* * *

"This isn't how you make a coffee!"

"Well maybe we have different ways of doing that, Tony," retorted Bruce.

For the last ten minutes, they'd been arguing over how to make the perfect coffee. Right now, they were inspecting each other's effort, critiquing everything they deemed wrong about the other. This happened a lot. So often that the other Avengers often gathered around to watch who would win what they deemed 'the Ultimate Showdown.' Harry especially found it very amusing to watch two of the most brilliant minds in the world fight over how to make a coffee. Today, the audience consisted of Harry, Steve and Natasha. Clint was absent, doing something that he refused to tell the rest of the team.

Their argument was interrupted by a thundering _**BOOM! **_The building shook like an earthquake was rocking the Earth, except that the tremors came from above. There was silence for a second, before they all realised what had happened, or rather, who had arrived.

"That was quicker than I thought it would be," commented Steve. "He said he wouldn't be back for another three months."

"Last up there has to buy coffee for everyone?" So it seemed that the solution to the coffee debacle was outsourcing it. Harry immediately stood and turned on his heel, disappearing with a deafening crack. He could make it quieter now, but theatrics was what he was going for.

He landed on the roof of Avengers Tower, around ten metres away from where Thor was standing. Thor wheeled around to see Harry, a great smile splitting his face.

"It is good to see you, Harry. This is a quicker welcome than I expected."

"Yeah, well, if I didn't get up here quick enough I would have to buy coffee for the rest of the team." Thor's face paled.

"That is an understandable reason to get here as quick as you did. That is not something I would want to do."

"I also wanted to see you," Harry added. It was true; he didn't know Thor and wanted to get to know him better.

"That is nice. It seems the others have arrived." Thor looked over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned around to see the rest of the team spilling out of the double glass doors to get to where they were standing. Tony was partially clad in his Iron Man suit, using the repulsors on his hands to get him in front of the rest of the team. Steve was sprinting.

In the end, Bruce arrived last. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Well, at least now I won't have to suffer through Tony's coffee."

"Hey!"

Thor chuckled, impossibly loud. He seemed to have an invisible megaphone perpetually strapped to his throat. "It is good to see you all again. I missed this."

"What, the bickering?"

"Precisely."

After that, they all returned to the communal living area, with a defeated Bruce venturing out into the city to find coffee for all of the Avengers, except Harry. He still preferred tea any day of the week.

"So, how are things going on Asgard, big guy?" asked Tony, lounging on the couch.

Thor sat down, placing Mjolnir on the coffee table. "Everything is in order. My brother has been sentenced to solitary confinement and is locked up in the dungeons. There is no chance of him getting out, rest assured. The Allfather made sure of that. There are a few tensions brewing with the Marauders, but nothing that I need to be called for yet. I decided to take the time to visit my friends now in case something does happen in the future."

"Wasn't the Bifrost destroyed?" asked Natasha.

"Yes, I did destroy. It had now been repaired months ahead of schedule, which is why I was able to return to Midgard. I find that―what is that delectable smell?" Thor's head snapped towards the kitchen, where Steve was busy fiddling with the toaster.

"It's a poptart? They're nearly ready if you want any. I thought they would be something easy to snack on while we catch up."

"In other words, Steve doesn't know how to work anything in the kitchen except the toaster," laughed Harry. "Even that is sometimes beyond him." Harry and Natasha grimaced as they remembered the burnt toast disaster of a week ago.

"I would like to sample of these...poptarts." Thor hesitated over the name. "I am sure I would find them most delicious."

Suddenly, a strangely muffled "NO!" sounded from within the walls. It sounded like...Clint. It couldn't be, though.

"Did anyone else hear that?"

"DON'T GIVE THOR THE POPTARTS!"

"Definitely. Does it sound like Clint to you?" Steve said, pausing his perusal of the toaster.

"HE'LL EAT ALL OF THEM!"

"It's him, alright. Where is he, though?"

In answer, the vent cover on the wall was kicked across the room. It clattered to the floor. No one paid attention to that, though. What they were paying attention to was Clint tumbling out of the vent in a ball of limbs, bow at his side, face crazed, breathing hard.

So that was what he had been doing when he refused to tell anyone. Exploring the vents. That was a new one.

"_Don't. Give. Thor. Any of them."_

There was a second of silence.

Then everyone burst into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation that would later come to be known as, '_The First Battle of the Poptart War._"

When poor Bruce arrived back he had no idea what everyone was in hysterics about.

_He would soon find out._

* * *

The Avengers were at a loss.

All the supplies in the kitchen were gone (utensils, food and for some reason, the stove), some of their clothes had gone walkabout and the sheets had vanished. Tony checked the surveillance cameras, but nothing came up. No footage had been deleted, so the mystery continued. Nobody quite knew what to do about it, and JARVIS was resolutely refusing to order the missing items in from the outside, much to Tony's consternation. Nobody seemed to listen to the requests.

The solution came on sleepy Saturday morning, everyone wrapped in a ridiculous amount of blankets, when Bruce simply said, "Why don't we go out and get what we need?"

The next fifteen minutes were filled with disbelief that none of them had thought of that (except for Tony, who claimed he thought of it immediately but just didn't feel like leaving the tower) and the devising of a crazy plan. Eventually, they decided on a shopping location: The nearest mall. There were things there to satisfy everyone, with high-end stores for Tony and a good supermarket for the ones who were going to do the food shopping.

Disguises, consisting of caps, sunglasses and dark sweatshirts, were donned. Harry offered to glamour them, but they laughed down his suggestion. He did have to admit, though this plan was significantly more ridiculous than his idea, it was also more fun. He felt like a spy infiltrating enemy territory. The goal?

To not be recognised.

Easier said than done, especially when you have Thor in your group, who is the opposite of subtle.

They all piled into cars and drove to the mall. As they walked in, suspicious looks were cast their way, but no one said anything. So far, so good. Tony decided to focus on the linen, seeing as he lived with Pepper and now (apparently) had an intimate knowledge of sheets. Natasha split off with him, just in case he managed to get something as simple as sheet shopping wrong. Thor, Clint and Bruce went along to the utensils store, as well as the store that sold ovens. Harry was thankful that Bruce was going along with them, given the dramatics that Thor and Clint were prone to. He would be a good grounding force.

That left Harry and Steve to go food shopping. The supermarket was on the other side of the mall, so they calmly walked over, trying to keep their minds off what disasters could potentially happen. It wasn't even a question of whether something would go on; on the contrary, it was a question of _when. _Though the general public may not know it, when they weren't fighting hordes of evil aliens, the Avengers were surprisingly disaster-prone.

Their bit of shopping went without disaster. The only remarkably notable thing about the experience was the checkout operator, a young woman who gave them a knowing look. Harry silently pleaded with her to stay quiet. Luckily, she seemed to respect their wishes and saw them on their way.

No, the disaster began when they were halfway back to the rendezvous point, near the store where Thor, Clint and Bruce were shopping for ovens. The normal hubbub of the mall, low chatter, scraping chairs and the squeaking of shoes, was suddenly cut off by a victorious shout and then a lot of swearing. Harry and Steve both paled. They knew those voices. They knew those voices _very _well.

It was Thor and Tony.

They sprinted forward, gripping the many bags of food extra tight. One more corner to round and then they saw something they weren't expecting.

Thor was carrying an oven over his head, chattering animatedly with Clint and Bruce. Next to him was furious Tony, yelling at Thor, who looked utterly clueless.

"This is not what I needed today, Point Break! I just bought these sheets and now you've gone and spilt them on the floor! They're expensive."

"Well, I'm carrying an oven. I don't think you have the right to talk to me when I am in possession of such a glorious contraption." Thor smiled, refusing to place it down on the ground. A crowd was growing, phones being pulled out, people recognising the arguing pair.

Mission failed.

And in the background, while they were kicked out of the mall by security, Thor still proudly hefting the oven above his head, Bruce smiled innocently. Only Harry saw this. But at that moment, he remembered that Bruce Banner was scarily intelligent, and getting this disaster organised wouldn't be beyond his intelligence. He was nice enough to charm AI and assistants.

The crafty little bugger.

The news that night was very amusing, filled with videos of Tony and Thor arguing, while the rest of the team stood in the back looking vaguely uncomfortable. It was a moment that would go down in history, mainly from the video named: Mallvengers: Oven vs Sheets

* * *

Trust.

That was something Harry didn't do easily. He'd been betrayed too many times. It took him a long time. So the fact that he was sitting in the communal lounge, about to share his childhood with the rest of the team, was a big thing for him. It had taken years before he shared with Ron and Hermione. The only person in the room who knew about it was Steve. Not even Natasha was privy to this information.

They were all sharing something important tonight.

Harry decided it was his turn.

In the beginning, the words were lead on his tongue, poison on his lips. Nothing came out, yet everything did. The longer he talked, the easier it became. Janky, stilted words fell into a comfortable reason as he shared. A weight lifted off his shoulders. He was understood.

And though they were silent afterwards, taking in what he'd just said, that was more powerful than any words could be. They understood him.

They _understood._

And that was when Harry truly came to trust his team, his family. He was staying here for a long time.

* * *

"_SHIT!" _

Harry ducked down behind a wall as a foam bullet rocketed towards him. It ricocheted harmlessly off the wood, falling to the floor and rolling towards him. He kicked it away. The devious little bullet may usually be harmless, a sign of a good time between friends, an indicator of innocent fun.

However, when Tony Stark decided to load them into a JARVIS controlled launched, that became a different story. Especially when the launcher was in his bedroom and the nerf bullet woke him up from a very nice dream, hitting him in the middle of the forehead. When they continued pelting him, Harry rolled out of the bed and hid behind a wall, leading him to his current predicament.

"That's not a very nice way to respond," said JARVIS patiently. "This is a gift from Mr Stark in return for the antlers you gave all of his suits. It is also from Mr Rogers, Miss Romanoff and Dr Banner. They don't appreciate your latest exploits.

Harry groaned. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner? Of course, it was in retaliation to those little pranks. The payback was due any day now, and here it was. Knowing the Avengers, this would only be the beginning of an entire day of misery that he would have no way of stopping (if he wanted to, he could easily stop it, but there was no fun in that).

"Yeah, well no shit."

"I don't appreciate that language being used in this building."

In retaliation, Harry poked his wand out from around the corner, pointing it at the launcher that was sticking out of his ceiling and whispered, "_Minisces." _The soft _flump _of the nerf bullets turned into a strange slapping, flopping noise. Harry glanced around the corner and saw a sight that would make him chuckle for days to come.

In the place of all the nerf bullets, there was fish. Lots and lots of tiny fish. JARVIS stopped firing, giving Harry a chance to skedaddle out of the rooms before he could be bombarded with another wave of tiny fish.

"That was close," he murmured, wiping his brow and flopping down on the couch. He then remembered that he was in his pyjamas. One glance down was all it took for him to groan again. Somehow his pyjamas had been replaced with an Avengers print that he knew could be found at Target. "Come on, you've got to be kidding me."

He needed a way to get back at them. The entire day would be filled with endless pranks, with these only being the beginning of them. A glance around the room confirmed his hunch. The curtains were completely gone, the television was replaced with a cardboard cut out and...for Merlin's sake. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. The over was completely gone, nowhere to be seen.

Why was it always the oven?

_Wait._

Maybe the best revenge could be going about his day completely normally, without reacting to anything. That would likely irk them to no end. Hmm. He could also subtly lay his traps and tricks while they were too busy consorting on how to make him react.

Harry quickly transfigured his clothes to something more manageable than the awful pyjamas. Jeans and a T-shirt. That would do.

Now to begin the master plan.

He sauntered out of his room, deftly stepping over the puddle outside his door. How annoyed must Tony be if he allowed a puddle in his precious tower? This was going to be harder than he thought. No matter. If there was anything Harry was good at, it was beating impossible odds. His entire life was a testament to that.

Nothing else happened on the way to the communal lounge. It didn't rid him of suspicion. It just made him more cautious. When he got out there, all of the team were sitting on the couch, oddly silent. Harry wouldn't call them a team right now. Currently, they were the enemy.

"Morning, guys. Does anyone know why there are fish in my room? It smells a right storm in there. And not the good kind," he gave a pointed look at Thor. "It's no problem, though. Shall I cook breakfast? I haven't done it in a while."

"That would be nice." Natasha' voice was perfectly normal. Too normal. What could be waiting for him in the kitchen?.

"Yeah, thanks. Can you do eggs?"

"Sure, Steve. Eggs good with everyone?" They all nodded, a tad too enthusiastically. Harry made his way to the kitchen, checking out everything there was to see. It appeared normal. But don't judge a book by the cover, Harry told himself.

Just as well. The second he opened the egg carton, they all exploded out onto his face. It was cold, slimy, somehow fast and slow at the same time. The contents of the eggs were utterly disgusting. After regaining his composure, Harry remarked:

"Huh. I think you got the wrong brand of eggs." Wandlessly, he cast a delayed animation spell on the oven. If they were so keen to continue the theme of the oven, who was he to deny them that? "JARVIS, can you get some new eggs in?"

"I'll be sure they're not of the exploding variety."

"Appreciated."

The rest of the day continued in a similar vein, with Harry completing his usual routine, acting as if the pranks (which included a conveyer belt couch, a computer that used the letter next to the one he pressed, all his clothes going missing, Steve sprinting around in the Invisibility cloak and cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, his shampoo secretly being hair dye which left him with bright green hair, and so many more) were no more than slightly alarming to him. He had to admit, they were rather hilarious, and keeping a straight face was difficult at times. During all of this, he'd been secretly laying his traps.

Now it was time for them to come to fruition.

Three…

Two…

One...

_Now._

There was an ungainly squawk that belonged to Natasha as the chair she was sitting on transfigured into a flock of colourful macaws all taunting her. From the kitchen, a surprised yelp as the oven door latched onto Steve's arm and didn't let go. Down the hallway, there were three cries of frustration as Tony, Bruce and Clint all found the gravity changing with every step they took, leading to them looking like a bunch of uncoordinated foals. Thor just watched in wonderment as his hair slowly drifted upwards, standing on end, while the floor slowly devoured his feet. By the time he looked down, he was already up to his knees in the floor.

While all this was happening, Harry lounged on the couch with his bright pink hair, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Everyone else vs him.

The next few months were terrifying for anyone who visited the upper floors. This period would come to be known as '_The Great Prank War of 2012.' _

No one would ever forget, especially Harry who was eventually beat. Not even the wisdom of George Weasley could save him when slugs began to pour out of his shower, the walls surged forwards to keep him hostage and his magic couldn't get him out of the wall's embrace. He couldn't get out and wasn't going to set free until he surrendered the prank war. Of course, when they let him out after her 'surrendered' Harry went out with a blaze of glory, temporarily making everyone except himself in the room bald. Thor especially was affected by this, frantically running hands over his now shiny head.

After that, Harry conceded, true to his word.

He didn't return their hair for another week, though.

* * *

Six months after the Battle of New York, Harry finally got around to seeing up what he decided to call the 'Trophy Cabinet.' He was going to put it in his room, eventually deciding against it. Just because he got the helmet off of Loki didn't mean he got to have it all to himself. Defeating Loki was a team effort.

As he polished the helmet, getting ready to put it behind the glass, his thoughts strayed towards the gem at the end of Loki's sceptre and how he seemed to be immune to its effects. Was he immune because he broke out of its control? Or was it something to do with becoming the Master of Death. There were so many theories going around inside his head. It was a neverending whirlwind, one that he was keeping to himself right now. He wasn't going to present his theories until he had a solid one. As much as he knew the others trusted him, he didn't want to lay something too heavy on their shoulders right now.

In the future, the best thing to do would be to get a hold of the sceptre again and run tests. Usually, Harry would be opposed to this, but for once he needed to this. Testing his limits with the sceptre compared to others could give them an advantage with any future enemies that were out there. Harry was no fool. He knew they were there. He would be stupid to believe that the Chitauri were the only evil army out there. He could still hear that deep, rumbling voice in his head, tempting him to join, tempting him to give in.

The words came to him at the worst moments. Sometimes, it sent shivers down his spine. Other times, it only reminded him that he needed to work harder to find out who was behind the Attack on New York. Who was this strange figure who was in league with Loki? Was he an equal? Something more? Something less? Maybe he was a crazy space warlord who committed genocide because be believed their beliefs were the only way. His mind was working overtime to try and find out who it was, but there was nothing he could do at the moment except wonder, nothing he could except plan and plot.

So many questions to be answered and Harry instinctively knew that the key lay with the Sceptre. With the gem encased within it. By extension, this meant Harry and his relationship with the gem. There was something more there, he knew. It was an intense itch that was always there. Something was drawing him towards the sceptre, something intoxicating and addicting, that would flood through his veins and give him everything he ever wanted…

Harry vigorously shook his head, dropping the helmet in shock. Where did those thoughts come from? When did he start thinking that the sceptre was an addiction that could grant all of his wishes, make all his deepest desires come true? Harry knew that if he wanted to, he could wield it and see that stars reflected in his eyes, the world whirling around him. That wasn't what he wanted to do, though. All Harry wanted was to run some tests on it concerning his immunity. If he could figure out what was behind the sceptre, who was the mastermind of the attack, that would be one step closer to preventing disaster.

He wouldn't let anyone more die.

Sighing, Harry placed the helmet in the glass cabinet and closed the door. A few waves of his wand and wards were placed around it. There couldn't be a safer helmet on all of Earth, he thought. Perhaps in the Gringotts vaults, but Harry didn't know about all of the Gringotts vaults.

"Finally got it up, did you?"

Harry spun around to find Natasha standing right behind him. "Yeah. No more sitting around for this helmet." He patted the glass fondly while imagining a helmetless Loki. The thought made him chuckle slightly.

"I was going to talk about keeping it all for yourself." She smirked slightly. "We all need to be reminded of our victories sometimes."

She didn't need to say the rest. Harry knew that spirits got down sometimes, especially with those who couldn't see the good in what the Avengers had done. Harry didn't understand how people could become so jaded that they would rather they did nothing. Did they not recognise the good they did? It wasn't his place to interfere, though.

"Yeah, we do."

She sat down on the couch, inviting Harry to do the same. He plonked down next to her, closer than he would have a few months ago.

"I've been assigned a mission. I'll be gone for a month."

"Oh? Where are you going?"

"Now, you know that's classified information, Potter. I can't tell you."

"Not even for me?"

"Especially not for you."

"I am insulted. Never have I encountered such insolence. Out of my sight!" Harry pointed towards the door, sniffing dramatically. Natasha didn't budge. "Well, I never. This is outrageous."

"Mmmhmm, keep telling yourself that and maybe one day you'll believe it."

Harry blinked. "Okay, you win with that one. I surrender, O Great One." He mockingly bowed down.

"At last someone understand my greatness. Ahh, what a relief."

"When will you be leaving?"

"Next Wednesday. I'll be fine, you know. You don't need to worry about me."

"I know, it doesn't mean I won't."

She smiled up at him, before laying her head on his shoulder. "That's what I like about you. Always looking out for others."

"It's what I do, Nat. It's what I do."

"Don't ever stop."

They fell into an easy silence, with Harry's arm around Natasha's shoulder and her head resting on his. This...this was nice. He could stay like this for a long while.

Unfortunately, their moment was interrupted by the flash of a camera and Steve yelling, "FINALLY, some progress."

So much for the relaxed atmosphere.

As Harry and Natasha chased down a cackling Steve (at this point, Harry was beginning to suspect that he was a relative of the Wicked Witch of the West with how much he did it) he smiled to himself.

His life was crazy but he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

_Wow, this was a long one. The longest chapter I've ever done, in fact. It was meant to be 4000 words but kind of grew. I wish my plants would do that. They all seem to die. That makes me sad. Now I sound like Bill Wurtz. Cue the even crazier space dust Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed it, I put a lot of effort into it. Can you tell that? I hope you can. I'm going on a tangent here, which will turn into a never-ending loop. Damn. Let me stop before I go off the rails A__lso, should Harry be able to lift Mjolnir at any point? I'm undecided on that bit. Would it make him too OP? I'm already walking a fine line. Just saying this before I finish the chapter._

_Question of the chapter: What is the longest thing you have ever written and are you proud of it? What would you do to change it or make it better? Do you like writing longer or shorter things?_

Why don't you join my discord server dedicated to all things fanfiction? The link is: /Kb9zJgV

We're nearly at 500 reviews, 2000 follows, 1400 favourites and 30 C2s. I'm freaking out. Thank you so much, you don't know how much this means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

_Sincerely  
Mariadoria :)_


	29. The Mission for Permission: Part One

_This story is based on _A Happy Accident: 70 Years _by the amazing _Njchrispatrick. _It's cool, you should go and check it out._

* * *

_Shit._

The ink spread over the paper as the pen snapped in half. With a sigh, he cleaned up, the remains being binned.

Harry's head fell into his hands. No matter how hard he tried, nothing he did went right. There was fog in his brain, a wrench in the works. The cogs weren't turning over, his mind was out of oil to maintain the cycle. His fingers were being terrifyingly stubborn, often doing the opposite of what he wanted. Typing was a slog, his knee was constantly jigging, the chair he was sitting on became unbearably bumpy despite the fact he bought it. It was a feeling that hadn't wormed its way through the door in a long time. It took Harry a large amount of effort to even admit to feeling it. Here he was, living one of the most extraordinary lives, yet he was feeling like this. There was no other way about it, though.

Harry Potter was bored.

It was paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Never a break. Never a chance to lie down. He understood the necessity of it, he really did, but was it so hard for him to have half an hour to just sit down and rest his eyes? Apparently so, according to the indomitable Nick Fury. The assignment he was currently working on was going to be interesting in two weeks. How could visiting the Wizarding World to investigate dark dealings not be? Currently, though, he was filling out sheet after sheet with information that SHIELD didn't know. The work was deathly boring, and it showed in the way his hand dragged over the paper, in how his writing slanted and how his eyes were half-lidded, glazed over almost all of the time as he regurgitated facts and quirks that (to him) were common knowledge.

As much as he hated it, stopping would be the worst thing he could do right now. It was just so dull…

A tapping at the window of his office jerked him out of the doze he was sinking into. He glanced up, hand still scrawling across the paper, and saw a tiny whirlwind of an owl flapping madly, a letter attached to its' leg with a leather strap. Harry instantly recognized Besmadillo, the offspring of Ron's elderly owl Pigwidgeon. When he first heard the name it made him groan. Just like Pigwidgeon, it slowly grew on him, until he was now strangely fond of it. What he was not fond of was the ridiculously manic nature of the small creature.

Harry jumped up and opened the window, letting Besmadillo into his study. She shot in. Unsurprisingly she crashed right into his dresser, falling to the ground with a dull 'thump.' He ignored the little drama queen (the owl was scarily similar to Winona Weasley) and waited for her to right herself up. With a sassy hoot, she straightened her feathers and flew up to his desk, sticking her leg out.

"Not until you apologise."

She glared at him. Owls from the Wizarding World always seemed to have an incredible level of intelligence and wit, including a distasteful scowl that would give Natasha Romanoff a run for her money. It was clear that she wanted him to apologise. For what, he didn't know.

"No, I won't. If anyone needs to apologise, it's you. You crashed into my dresser." He crossed his arms, tapping his foot. This distraction was welcome, even though he did want to open the letter.

Besmadillo put her foot down. She was calculating something. Harry could see the cogs in her head-turning. He groaned. How could an owl have a mind that worked better than his? Calculations done, she swooped down and grabbed a piece of paper in her beak, bringing her talons up close to the edge. How… The devious little owl was threatening to tear his paperwork. That was it. If he had to apologise to an owl, he would. He still wasn't quite sure what he was apologising for, but he would make up a reason as he spoke.

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry." She gave him a pointed look, hooting a low warning. "I'm sorry that I...live in America and you had to fly so far?" She dropped the paper and offered the letter again, hooting in content. "Yeah, that must have been hard on your wings. Want to stay overnight so you can rest?" Besmadillo hooted once, before shaking her leg urgently at Harry. She looked about ready to keel over in exhaustion. He took it off, watching with amusement as she settled down right where she was, becoming a mass of fluffed up feathers. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

Harry took the letter and went out to the lounge, sitting down on the couch. A cold tea sat on a coaster, leftover from that morning. Damn. He completely forgot about it. No matter. He shot a quick warming charm and a refreshing spell at it. Now it was good as new. The letter was crisp, obviously the doing of Hermione. He opened the envelope and pulled the letter out, picked up his tea and began to read:

_Hi Harry._

_How have you been? We haven't heard from you in months and are missing you. Your job must be hectic. Don't worry, we aren't mad at you. Just disappointed. Kidding. _

The handwriting changed here, from Ron's untidy printing to Hermione's immaculate letters.

_I am so sorry about that, Ron doesn't know how to follow the instruction of a nice letter. We arent' disappointed, just missing you. You should come over to England soon, things have changed a great amount since you were last here. For example, Gringotts now has a human teller. No one quite knows how that happened, but I think that it is simply wonderful. Muggle technology is also being introduced to Wizarding Britain. I'm actually in charge of the experiments and am having the most wonderful time, both with the experimenting and showing the Pureblooded bigots that they're way of life isn't always the answer. Ron has been promoted again and is now one of the primary Aurors. In a few years, he could be Head of Department, which I think is amazing. He's practically glowing every time we talk about it._

_This letter also serves another purpose other than being a simple 'you should come and see us, knob' wake up call. _Harry snorted at Hermione's insult. It seemed that Ron did rub off on her slightly over the years. A few short years ago she would never have used such a casual insult. She also didn't know how to follow her own instructions about a nice letter either. Ah, classic Hermione. _In two weeks, on the 18th of October, Winona is turning eleven. We would love it if you could come to her birthday party, just like you do every year. She misses her Godfather. Rose and Hugo also want to see you, quite badly. I'm getting rather sick of explaining that you don't live in England like most of our friends._

_I hope that Besmadillo is behaving alright. I wanted to send Ulysses, as she is a larger owl and travels long distances better, but the little creature insisted on being the one to go. Ron was firmly on her side, which I did find rather frustrating. He said 'Come on, give her a chance to shine. She'll peck my eyes out if you don't.' I suppose that is true, the owl is a menace when she doesn't get out often enough. _Harry chuckled. She certainly made it, just in time to fall asleep on his desk.

_We hope you can get leave for a few days to come and see us. Please let your ever mysterious boss give it to you. We can't wait to see you._

_Love from,  
Ron and Hermione_

There was a P.S below their names, written by the shaky hand of a child.

_P.S. Please come to my party, I miss you. From Winona. _

Harry smiled fondly. He couldn't not go. They were right, it had been months since the last time he talked to them, even sent a letter. He'd been so busy that it had clouded his vision, made him forget about his family in England. Asking for leave now would be a bad idea when the work he'd been assigned wasn't completed. Knowing Nick Fury, the superior strategy would be to complete the paperwork and electronic work extra fast, then ask for a few days leave. It would a slog, leaving him little more than a zombie at the end, but if he got to see his friends, and little (not so little anymore, he told himself) Winona, then it would be worth it.

He downed the tea in one gulp, not even wincing at the too-hot temperature. He cracked his knuckles and jumped up, walking back into his study.

Time to get to work.

* * *

_Sleep._

Harry desperately needed to sleep. For the last week, he'd been running on fumes, using his magic to keep him awake. In his fervor, tea was abandoned for coffee, despite how much he despised the bitter liquid. Coffee was then abandoned for raw magic, refusing to let himself fall asleep. It was a level of stupid that would impress even Ron, that would cause Hermione to go into a fit and would cause Molly to slap him silly and then tuck him into a bed so tight that he couldn't get out, even with his enhanced strength.

That didn't matter, though. What mattered was that the paperwork was done, five days ahead of schedule. There was now a possibility that Nick Fury would let him have a week of leave before beginning the mission in England. And it wasn't like he would be sitting idle when he was over. Every spare moment he could scrounge up, outside of reuniting with his friends and family, would be spent on the mission. Gathering intel, scoping locations and such. If there was one thing that Fury liked, it was the ability to get a leg up on whoever they were going up against. Harry offered the perfect opportunity. He was sure that Fury wouldn't turn down the chance to have that advantage. This was going to be used to his advantage.

_Sleep. SLEEP._

Harry tamped down on the voice, silencing it. That was something he could do after he visited Fury and asked for leave. He could sleep once he got permission. That was now his mission. Ha. The mission for permission. That was strangely funny, with the rhyming. Mission for permission.

How was he going to pull it off?

Walking there wouldn't be an option. Stumbling through the halls of the New York SHIELD Headquarters (where Fury was currently situated, with the clean-up from the Battle still going on) would only invite questioning stares and ignite the gossip fire. The best option, to Harry's sleep-deprived brain, was to apparate straight into Fury's office. He knew what it looked like and where he needed to go, so there was absolutely no problem. He grabbed the massive file containing the paperwork and laptop, turned on his heel, disappearing with a crack.

It was a problem.

When he landed in Fury's office, he was greeted with two things. The first was his face becoming good friends with the floor as he came out of the crushing vortex. The second was searing pain, in his torso and left arm. With a detached sort of interest, he took in how his arm was missing below the elbow, how his shirt, previously white, was now stained crimson. Huh. That was not the welcome he was expecting. It wasn't a big deal, he would heal, but that didn't mean it was painless. It hurt like a bitch. Unfortunately, the pain wasn't enough to pull him out of his delirious state. All it did was make him give a small giggle.

"Potter, what is the meaning of this?" Fury growled, holstering his gun. "And why is your arm missing?"

Harry leapt to his feet, snapping to attention and giving a mocking salute. He swayed slightly. "I just got splinched, sir. It will grow back. Doesn't mean it's painless. The more you know. Also, shooting hurts." Fury's eyes widened slightly. Harry didn't notice. "And I'm here to ask for a week of leave, before the assignment."

"Of course shooting hurts, you teleported into my office." Fury scowled at Harry. "And why are you asking for this leave?"

"My god-daughter Winona's birthday is on the eighteenth and I want to go. Plus, I'll still be doing the mission, gathering intel and such. It'll be a nice advantage." He scooped the paperwork up off the floor, nearly falling over himself as he barely managed to keep the contents inside it. "I've finished the paperwork section. Here, I have it."

"I can see that."

"Huh."

Fury took the file, quickly perusing through it. "This is all up to date. What I want to know is how you completed it so quickly. This should have taken you another week at least."

Harry grinned, tapping his nose. "Who 'nose', Director." A hysterical giggle burst from his lips.

"Potter, how long has it been since you last slept?"

"A week, sir. Magic can do wonderful things, like keeping me awake so I can do the paperwork. I do feel slightly woozy, though. Is this normal?" He cocked his head to the side, rather like a dog. His body was beginning to feel both weighed down and feather-light in the same moment. It was a strange sensation.

"That...is unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

"Okay, here's the deal. I will give you the 'leave' as you put it if you do the work you promised. You can catch up with your friends as much as you want, as long as you get the work done. This is a one-time thing, and I'm letting you do it on one condition?"

"Mmm?"

"Get some goddamn sleep."

"Okay."

Harry, thinking what he was about to do was a brilliant idea, promptly collapsed on the floor, snoring louder than Hagrid. Fury gave a suffering sigh, calling some low-level staff to take the weirdest wizard he'd ever met back to Stark Tower. While he waited, he added two facts to Harry's file:

The first was a note to find out more about the healing abilities he showed. The second was to ensure that he got the sleep he needed, lest he became worse than Tony Stark.

Now that was a thought that made even Nick Fury think twice.

* * *

After two amazing days of sleep, Harry woke. Right, leaving for England. He got the leave. That was the last thing he could remember….shit. He had to go and fall asleep in Fury's office. What a dick move. Sleepy him was a bit clueless. He made a note to apologise to Fury the next time he saw him.

Half an hour later, he was showered, packed and standing in the lounge with his shrunk down and placed on his belt. He said goodbye to the rest of the team, made a portkey, and positively guffawed at their expressions as he disappeared off to Ron and Hermione's house in a vortex of rainbow light. Tony would be having an especially good time with what he'd just seen.

No matter how many times he travelled by Portkey, he hated it. The whirling, washing machine like sensation just didn't sit well with him. Even after all his years with SHIELD, he still couldn't land on his feet after using the Portkey. It was a source of great amusement for his friends. Not so much him.

Here came the gale of laughter.

He landed in a pile of limbs in the middle of their lounge, groaning. Strangely there was silence. Then:

"Ha! Still haven't mastered the portkey have you?"

"Ron, don't be so rude," chided Hermione, clearly on the edge of bursting into laughter herself.

"Hardyharhaar, very funny."

"Yes, it is."

"Hermione, don't be so rude."

He dragged himself to his feet. "Nice to see you too."

"Oh, who are we kidding. It's good to see you too, Harry." He was swept up in a massive group hug. Okay. This was nice. He'd missed this. "You do need to come over more often."

"I don't get much time off, you know that."

"You should. That boss of yours works you far too hard. Whatever job you have, you're far too dedicated to it," huffed Hermione.

"Now that's something I never thought I would hear," chuckled Harry. "Hermione Granger, who has assimilated your brain?"

"Logic and reason."

"It was me," whispered Ron. "I corrupted her."

Their conversation was cut off by the pattering of feet. Several pairs of feet. Four pairs of feet. Little feet. Harry smiled, knowing exactly what was coming.

Winona, Rose, Hugo and Teddy burst into the room. The first three, he was expecting. Teddy, he was not. He wasn't complaining, though. He got to see his god-son. This was the best type of surprise.

His thoughts were cut off as a wave of children engulfed him. He chuckled.

"Hello. How are you guys?"

A small cacophony answered him as they all gabbled answers at the same time.

Hermione tutted. "Now, what have I told you about speaking at the same time?"

"To not to?" said Hugo, hair flopping into his eyes.

"Yes, that's right."

"I'm good!"

"Me three." Hugo still mixed up his numbers sometimes, it seemed.

"Me four!" Teddy grinned, keeping up with the theme. Despite being fourteen, he loved hanging out with his cousins in all but blood.

"I'm excellent," said Rose, sniffing. Harry did a double take. That was exactly how Hermione used to speak. It was uncanny.

"That's great to hear, you guys."

Rose tugged on his sleeve. "We're playing Quidditch. Wanna come play with us?"

"How could I say no?"

* * *

Over a glass of wine that night, a severely frazzled Harry sat in an armchair, eyes still wide in fright. Those kids...they were something else. How they had so much energy, were so smart and so mischievous at the same time. They were a perfect mix of Hermione and Ron, and while that would usually be a good thing, when they swarmed him, it wasn't. He loved them to bits, but they were scary. Very, very scary. Dispatching enemy soldiers and taking down rogue operations? No problem. But the children?

They scared him.

"Couldn't handle them, could you?"

"No it isn't that," he said, taking another sip of wine. Just because he couldn't get drunk didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy the drink. "I just...wasn't expecting them."

"Yeah, right. If that's true then I'm a flobberworm."

"I...am not going to dignify that with a response," said Harry.

"Harry, it's okay to admit that four kids overpowered you. It happens to us all the time. We're pretty much carpet now."

"That is the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah, well...Rose, what are you doing up?"

In the doorway, seven-year-old Rose stood, clutching a teddy bear and leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes were glistening with tears. "I had a bad dream."

Ron outstretched his arms. "Come here, sweetheart." She ran over and launched herself into his arms, cuddling down. Ron ran his fingers through her hair, rubbing comforting circles on her back. Harry smiled softly. Ron was such a good father. One day, he wished to live up to his example...if he ever had kids. He wanted to, but that wasn't in the immediate future. Hermione was the best mother her kids could ask for, always there when they asked for her, comforting them when they needed it, but being stern when they did the wrong thing.

"What happened in it?" asked Hermione. Rose shook her head, refusing to speak. "Okay. Do you want to stay out here with us for a while." A nod. "You will have to go back to bed soon, though."

"I could take her if you want," offered Harry.

"Would you like that?" asked Ron. Once again, Rose nodded. He smiled at Harry. "Seems you have yourself a little fan, Mr Potter." He repositioned Rose so she was lying next to him and held her close. Hermione went to sit next to Ron, sandwiching their daughter between them.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was lead along the hallway by Rose. Her grip on his hand was iron. It was funny, the second she left the lounge, her entire demeanour changed. Almost as if she was keeping a secret of sorts. He couldn't imagine what it was but knew it wasn't normal. Perhaps she was more of a trickster than he gave her credit for.

"We're nearly there," she said, marching right past her bedroom and into what was known officially as the second lounge. It was more of a playroom, though the toddler was toned down now. On the wall was a beautiful mural of Hogwarts, courtesy of Luna and Dean, who were both marvellous artists. Bean bags were lying around, a colourful rug on the floor, and a wall of boxes filled to the brim with toys. These kids never wanted for anything, courtesy of both Ron and Hermione, but especially Ron, who knew what it was like to grow up wanting for things. It wasn't exactly tidy, no matter how many times Hermione went through it.

"What are you up to, missy?"

Sitting in a circle were Rose, Teddy and Hugo. Rose plopped down next to Teddy. Harry sighed and sat down, his curiosity getting the better of him. They had something planned. It seemed that Rose was the actor of the group, great at getting what she wanted. It reminded him even more of an eleven-year-old Hermione. There was no answer to his question, so he tried again.

"What've you got planned?"

"Can you tell us a story?"

Harry blinked. That wasn't what he was expecting. He wasn't complaining, though. A story was something he could do. He was full of them.

"Of course I can. We're going to have to stay quiet, so your parents don't catch us."

"What do you think we were doing?" said Teddy, reclining back into a bean-bag.

"Formulating a genius plan, that's what."

"It was my idea," announced Winona proudly. She sat up straight, puffing out her chest.

"Winona Weasley, planner extraordinaire," said Harry. Her grin only widened, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Well, what story do you want to hear?"

"We don't know. Mum said you were good at telling them, and you won't be here for long, so we wanted to ask you now."

Harry thought for a second before the perfect story came to his mind. It was one of adventure, intrigue and danger, but also family and love. And so, he began.

"This is the story of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks…" As he was talking, Harry didn't miss Teddy's beaming smile. It made a warmth fill him that he hadn't felt for a long time. It was comforting, enveloping him.

One by one, they all fell asleep. Harry drifted off soon after Teddy, who was the last of the kids to fall asleep. He wasn't a kid anymore. The thought of it amazed Harry. Just yesterday he was holding the tiny baby with colour-changing hair. Now he was a young man who he was incredibly proud of.

Of course, the next morning, Ron and Hermione just had to sneak a photo.

* * *

Two days before Winona's birthday, Harry travelled to the Ministry of Magic. His destination was the Department of Mysteries. There was something there he remembered, something vague, something that might be able to aid his assignment. Inside the Department of Mysteries, his goal was to reach the Death Chamber, the room that still sent chills up his spine whenever he thought about it. Going there was wholly necessary, though.

After all, when you have a potential necromancer on your hands, half measures were not an option.

* * *

_I'm so sorry for the delay. Things happened that I wasn't anticipating, such as my girlfriend breaking up with me over text. She didn't even bother to call. I did try to get this out as quickly as possible. It was meant to be one chapter, but my brain froze after Monday. Again, I am so sorry. I'll make up for it with some awesome action in the next chapter. Also, don't worry, this is setting up the big finale for this story. I'm going to try and get the next part out extra fast, in around three days, so stay tuned for that._

_I am going to be incorporating the Animagus transformation into the story at some point in the future, which leads to the Question of the Week._

_Question of the Week: What Animagus form do you think my version of Harry should have? What would your ultimate form be?_

_Sincerely (for a few days),  
Mariadoria_


	30. The Mission for Permission: Part Two

_Parts of this chapter are based on/inspired by the television show _Trollhunters. _It is incredibly awesome, you should go check it out. Plus, Guillermo Del Toro. So, yeah. Awesome. :)_

* * *

Emma Simôn, one of the many receptionists at the Ministry of Magic, sighed. The day was dreadful. Nothing was happening. All around her, people bustled, going up to every counter but hers. That stupid rumour...why did it have to dog her steps even after Hogwarts? Still, that didn't matter now. What mattered was that she would give anything to just have one person, _one person, _approach her desk. Was it too much to ask?

She glanced up, observing the crowd. It was made up of the usual darkly robed witches and wizards, all in a constant hurry. The Ministry was so fast-paced she sometimes found it hard to even consider how they did it. A head of messy blond hair bobbed above the rest. She frowned. That wasn't someone she remembered seeing. Normally, people wouldn't be able to tell who someone was just from their hair. Emma watched the crowd so much she knew when someone new was arriving.

A jolt of excitement rushed through her. She then cringed. What had her life come to that she considered the possibility of someone coming to her desk was thrilling? That was pathetic. Emma wouldn't let that dissuade her, though. Right now she was craving human interaction. And if this mysterious new man could be her ticket to talking, she would take it with no hesitation.

She continued watching him as he pushed through the crowd. The closer he got, the more she could make out. He seemed to be wrapped in a silver cloak or cape type thing, not a robe, that could easily be made out of stars from the way it glistened and twinkled. The effect was rather unearthly. Under the cloak, he wore simple black clothing, though there was something lethal and tactical about it. She squinted, getting a closer look at his face. Green eyes, a faint scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt…wait.

_Holy shitty Merlin._

The man was Harry Potter. It had been so long since he'd turned up in the Wizarding World that she'd forgotten what he looked like after the appearance change. She may have only been eleven when it happened, but it was all over the news. Even now it was occasionally talked about. And it seemed that Harry Potter was making a beeline straight for her desk. Two distinct emotions filled her; the first, giddy excitement that made her feel drunk, the second an all-consuming dread. What if she messed up? What if he didn't like her? Maybe it would be better if she just hid under the desk. That wouldn't work now. He made eye contact and smiled.

"Hey, I need to be registered as a visitor and saw your desk was free. It is what you do, right?" There was an odd American lilt to his voice, intertwining with his Surrey accent. It was strange and rather charming. She felt her cheeks pink.

"Yeah, it's what I do. I'll need your name and occupation, please." _What? _Why was she asking for his name? She already knew his fucking name. This was not normal. It wasn't like her to get tongue-tied like she was now. Then again, he was very good looking. Lithe, lean, deadly. There was a calculating look in his eyes, accompanied by something unearthly, something beyond. Nope, no, she wasn't doing this. She wouldn't get distracted. Oh, how she wished for blinders right now.

He chuckled. "Harry Potter. My work is...difficult to describe."

"I'm afraid that I do need it, sorry. No exceptions, not even you for you, Mr Potter." She pulled out a notepad, ready to jot it down.

His hands shot up, waving in a gesture of surrender. "No, I would never have expected that. Please don't do that, it would make me feel dreadful. And my work. Um...I work for the American government. Is that enough?"

"So you're a government agent, of sorts." She tried to find a way around a subject that wasn't meant to be broached.

Relief washed over his face. "Yes, that's the perfect way of getting around it. Thank you so much."

"You're most welcome." She scribbled it down. The words would be copied directly into the magical files deep down in the Ministry. The endless notebook, a recent invention, was a game-changer, not to mention incredibly helpful. "Right, now all I need is to register your wand and for you to tell me where you're off to, then you're good to go."

He twitched his wrist and a long, pale wand slipped out of his holster. He handed it to her, waiting anxiously as she took it. The second she did, a feeling of dread overtook her. It was different from before, though. This dread was cold, neverending like she was peering in a bottomless void and could never escape its slimy clutches. The wand pulsed slightly, almost like it was alive. She wasn't going to hang around to find out. Speed was of the essence.

She placed the wand on the little set of peeling scales that sat behind the desk. The result came back immediately: Elder wood, fifteen inches...there was no core. Or at least no core that she knew of. Emma wasn't going to stick about to find out. As much as she liked Harry Potter, his wand freaked her out. It was...otherworldly, for lack of a better word.

He took it back with a smile, casually unaware of how it affected her. She shivered, trying to get the feeling out.

"Now I just need to know where you're going."

"Department of Mysteries."

Emma started. "I'm sorry, only authorised members of the Ministry are allowed down."

"I think that you'll find I am quite authorised."

"I don't think...oh yeah, you are." The answer came to her clear as day. Of course, he was authorised. How had she missed that? "Go right on down. Have a nice day." She waved at him as he walked off, smiling dopily, tidying the already neat stacks of paper on her desk.

What a nice man.

* * *

As Harry walked to the elevator he couldn't help but cringe. Confunding that lovely woman was the last thing he wanted to do. He needed to get down there, though, and couldn't let his morals get in the way. It was his assignment from SHIELD, he was here to complete it. If he had his way, he would have sneaked into the Department of Mysteries. Fury wanted everything to be as above board as possible (for once) so that Harry didn't get investigated. Sure, he didn't know exactly what Harry was doing, seeing as this was during his 'leave.' This didn't matter. Everything needed to run smoothly.

And it did.

The elevator doors squeaked shut in front of him, the cool voice of a woman sounding inside. Wow, it was a long time since he heard that. It brought back memories, most of them unpleasant. A deranged cackle sounded in his ear, a flash of red light, a torture curse leaving his lips. No, no. He wasn't here to dwell on the past. He was here to prevent the future.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Harry glanced down to his left and saw a woman that more resembled a sultana than she did a human. "Yes, yes, I'm fine." It didn't escape his notice how shaky his voice was, how hoarse, how forced. All these years later and those memories still reigned supreme over his terror. Usually, he tamped down on his. Here, though, they were in their domain, and he cursed it from the second he set foot in that thrice-cursed telephone box.

"You look a bit jumpy. When you get home, have a nice cup of tea. It should calm your nerves."

"Thank you, I guess."

She reached up to pat his cheek, her leathery fingers barely brushing his chin. Her hand smelled of cats. Perhaps she was a distant relative of Mrs Figg. "You're welcome, dearie. Take care of yourself. This is my stop now." She bent down, picking up a large box off the floor. He could almost hear her bones creaking as she moved off the elevator and down the hallway. Though he doubted that the tea would do anything to help his nerves, he did appreciate the woman's sentiment.

Harry spent the rest of the elevator ride in silence. He ran through the plan in his head, mentally preparing himself for where he was going. Some people would scoff and say he had no need, no reason, to be unnerved. Harry knew better, not being so arrogant as to assume he needn't be unsettled. The memories held in that room were painful, still occasionally haunting his nightmares.

"_Nice one, James!" _

He shook his head, exiting the elevator as the cool female voice sounded once more, for the last time: "Department of Mysteries. Enjoy your stay." He stepped off. The doors rattled shut behind him, followed by the whirring of cables as the elevator ascended to the top floor of the Ministry. He stared down the hallway before him, eyes darting back and forth, taking in every detail. This was all too familiar. Not in a good way.

"Not the time, Potter," he muttered to himself, ducking into an alcove. The above-board part of his mission was completed. He couldn't be happier. If there was one thing that would distract himself from the shitstorm going on inside his head, it would be sneaking around. He always enjoyed sneaking, especially with the invisibility cloak that he was now hidden over. In an instant, it switched from shining silver to see-through.

_Perfect._

A wandless silencing charm was cast on his feet so no one could hear him and he was off. Stalking through the dark halls like a cat after its prey. It was strangely exhilarating. Shadows flitted from wall to wall. Harry followed them, playing a little game. No one could see him, no one was around to see him, yet Harry smiled. This wasn't something that came to him often. Sure, he could sneak around the tower all he wanted, but this was something different.

As he neared the door the haunted his dreams in fifth year, Harry stopped, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes, breathing deep. Calm. He needed calm. His fingers wiggled, silver sparks dancing between the digits. They popped and spluttered slightly. Harry was completely oblivious to this fact as his senses flood outwards, covering an obscenely massive area. This was a newfound ability that came with being the Master of Death, being able to sense those who evaded it, those who decided they were above it. Right now, that was exactly what he was looking for.

_Who _he was looking for.

The dream from several weeks ago, the one that forced him to come here. If there was one thing that Harry knew, it was to trust the strange visions and dreams he rarely received during the night…

_Floating._

_Darkness._

_Unmoving._

_Strange light overtook his vision, grey, rotting like the flesh of a zombie. Huh. Rotting light. How strange. That was a new one. It began spinning, rotating, pushing him around aimlessly. He remained limp like a ragdoll, unmoving, floating, cocooned in glowing darkness and rotting light._

"_Harry…"_

_The whisper came from every angle, everywhere. His eyes flicked around, nothing to be seen._

"_Harry...come to me."_

_Where was the voice coming from? There! An archway, chiselled from crumbling stone, hewn with rough hands, rose out of the mist. Whispers increased until they became deafening. He couldn't move to block his ears._

"_I need you, Harry. Come to me, Harry. I'll teach you, Harry. The merits of your station. I've been watching, Harry. Waiting." A childlike giggle danced around him. "I need you, Harry." The whispers increased, the arch becoming clear as day. A blinding light, a new light, shone through the holes of the rotting one._

"_You know where to find me."_

The second Harry awoke from that nightmare, drenched in sweat, room stinking of death and decay, he knew where it was. It wasn't a coincidence, he didn't believe in those anymore. So, here he was, getting closer to whoever spoke those words, whoever was tinged with rotting light, entranced with the throes of death. He could feel them, a pinprick in a festering cesspool of darkness. They were right there. Once again, his dream didn't fail him. But oh how he wished it was something else.

His eyes snapped open. An invisible string woven with magic began guiding him towards the pinprick. Every step grew heavier, but that didn't stop him. If there was one thing Harry had in spades, it was his never-ending iron will. He wasn't going to let the ever-growing weight in his stomach stop him. No, he concentrated on the string, following it through the rooms. They flashed by, his plodding footsteps propelling him further until he reached the second to last door he needed to go through. He wasn't hesitant he may get lost; the magical string took care of that. No, it was for a far different reason. Harry wasn't about to let that stop him.

And so, with leaden fingers, Harry turned the large golden handle of the heavy door, pushing it opened.

It didn't creak. Instead, it whispered. The shivers began creeping up his spine again. They didn't stop him though. Harry stepped through the door. Shelves as high as a skyscraper brushed the ceiling, each holding thousands upon thousands of orbs, some glowing, others dulled. Once, many years ago, one of them was for him. If it wasn't for that thrice-damned prophecy...hang on, he wasn't meant to be going that way.

This wasn't the aisle he wanted to be in. The room must be messing with his head. Harry needed to pay attention to the string, instead of being distracted by memories of times long past. He would have time to be creeped out once he left the Department of Mysteries. Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled his nerves, turning around following the trail, extending his senses now that he was getting closer to the pinprick. It was bigger here, more the size of a knut.

He walked, seemingly aimless, until:

The door appeared in front of him, sliding sideways through the aisles. A golden doorknob gleamed at the centre, begging him to turn it. This was where the string went, where he needed to go.

_A red spell, an insane cackle, Remus holding him back as he screamed in agony._

Harry turned the doorknob. A gust of stale, musty wind rushed out, so cold that it hurt when he breathed it in. There was a distinct tingle that came with it, running up and down his skin. Hairs stood upright as a soldier, goosebumps decorating his skin. His mouth became dry, lips cracking in the breeze. No matter how long he prepared himself for this moment, standing in the doorway was an entirely different thing.

Harry's heart began beating faster, the foreign beat of the strange brand of magic this chamber held. For though he was the Master of Death, this room housed a bastardised version of his magic. Sometime in the past, it was touched by a Masters' hand. Over the years the magic grew stronger, became corrupted. Now that he really, _really_, listened to the hum in the air that only he could hear, he became disgusted. This was where the knut, the pinprick, the elusive spirit that called in his dreams, was hiding. They thought that because the room was so disgusting, teeming with so much corruption that he would just stop.

They hadn't met him.

His steps echoed around the chamber as he descended the crumbling stone stairs. His cloak whispered along behind him, disturbing tiny pebbles and debris. A bright light shone down from no discernable light source. In the centre stood the desecrated arch. Ancient runes decorated the dark stone, chipped away through the years. And inside the arch, the veil fluttered innocently, tantalising him with the thought of what could be, who was behind it.

_The snapping and hissing of a battle, shouted spells, screams as his friends were tortured._

Though the room was silent, the closer he came to the arch, the louder the voices became. Minimal at first, before rising to a crescendo. Harry could almost feel the people attached to them, visualise them in his head. Hundreds, thousands, of people were wrongfully killed in here, the room used as an excuse to get rid of those who 'weren't' needed.' Harry ground his teeth. The more he learned about this place from his connection with Death, the more he wanted to leave. It was disgusting.

In between the voices, he felt something more. Several solid somethings hiding in the walls. _Half alive. _Brought back from the dead? There was no one in here yet there was. He shook it off. Perhaps it was a part of Death Chamber's _charm. _Harry gave a dry chuckle. Wasn't that ironic?

He stood at the base of the arch. In an instant, the wind snapped up a notch, pushing his hood back off his head. Harry gulped. Ever so slowly, in trepidation, he extended his hand. Harry stopped an inch from the dark arch. Silver sparks once again danced around his fingers, leaping back and forth between his hand and the Veil. Nothing was stopping him from just placing his hand on is except the bastardised magic filling the room, the memories that clung to him like there was no tomorrow.

"_Haven't you waited long enough?"_

"_I've waited fourteen years…"_

"_I know." A simpering smile._

"_I guess I can wait a little longer. NOW!"_

Harry shook his head, clearing the memories.

"Get a grip, Potter." His hand shot forward, covering the last little space. For a second, nothing.

Then it all happened at once.

Screaming spirits filled his head, crying out for release, to be freed from their misery. Thousands of them, spanning back thousands of years. Men, women, all kinds of magical beings. All trapped inside the Veil. Harry found himself screaming out as well. Their pain was overwhelming, overpowering, the stench of captivity clouding his mind. This was worse than he ever imagined. He had to do something to help these poor people, anything at all.

Tears escaped from his eyes, running tracks down his cheeks. Harry didn't notice; he was still fighting the agony that burrowed into every crevice of his body, mind, made him shake like a leaf in a winter storm. They were in pain. How could nobody else hear them crying out, clawing at the walls of the abyss for an escape? They only wanted to pass on, to be at peace, leave the limbo they were trapped in.

Harry was so engrossed in the turmoil that he didn't notice the plodding footsteps approaching him from behind. It was until a peeling, grey hand landed on his shoulder that he whipped around. His hand sparked when it disconnected with the arch. It must have been what was in the walls, what he was stupid enough to discount as a 'feeling,' as part of the makeup of the room.

Standing in front of him was a walking corpse, wearing a tattered, filthy dress. Its mouth hung open, jaw cracked, teeth missing. Lank hair hung around its blank face, emaciated body shuffling along, skeletal arm outstretched. Black flesh, infested with all manner of insects, could be seen inside the gashes that covered its skin. At one point, this thing was a woman.

Now it was an Inferi.

"_Bombarda!" _The Elder Wand was suddenly in his hand. The inferi blew up, body parts splattering all over the room. This didn't bother it, as it kept crawling towards him. Harry spun around and felt his eyes widen. There were hundreds of Inferi plodding towards him, groaning, skin grey. This was...this was even worse than when he retrieved the false Horcrux with Dumbledore. There were so many more here. Luckily, Harry remembered the spell to get rid of them. How could he forget?

"_Incendio Maxima!" _Great bursts of flame leapt out of his wand, baying for blood at the feet of the inferi. They knew no fear, still shuffling forward. The fire reduced them to nothing but ash drifting to the floor. Nothing remained. Harry grit his teeth, aiming the fire at a new group that appeared out of the walls. There was more to this possible necromancer than he thought. These corpses were old, ancient. Not killed by the one who reanimated them.

Then it hit him

The screams he heard before weren't from those within the veil. They were the screams of the Inferi within the walls, begging for release from their hellish prison. The thought was enough to make Harry vomit; the inferi weren't completely dead. They were vaguely aware of what went on around them, unable to control their cracking bodies. The more fire that he used, the fewer cries he heard. They...he was...by eliminating them he was setting them free. _Just like him with the sceptre._

There were too many, though. Hordes of them escaped the walls, slowing encroaching upon Harry. He wasn't able to direct fire at all of them, give them the peace they so desired. Even if he couldn't die, Harry didn't want to be mauled by the Inferi. He took another step back as they became closer. His back bumped up against the Veil. The screams once again filled his head, but there was something else beneath them. This was different.

The string...it was what he was here for. The possible necromancer, the knut, the pinprick. It was right there, buried beneath the screams of those long dead. It, _she, _was there, inside the Veil, hiding, beckoning him. As the inferi came ever closer, the fire unable to keep them at bay, Harry realised he didn't have another option. Whatever was behind the Veil, wherever it took him, he was about to find out. Apparating away wasn't an option; there were wards installed after they broke in. Who he needed was inside. No other option.

Besides, it wasn't like he could die.

Time to test how far his abilities went.

With one last burst of fire, Harry merely stepped backwards into the Veil. He was pulled backwards, seeing the inferi clawing for him, their screeches unearthly.

_Then, nothing._

* * *

.

.

.

Where was he?

.

.

.

.

What was this _place_

.

.

.

.

.

**Who was he?**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

What were these memories swirling round as he was dragged downwards into the inky black abyss, unable to move, unable to speak?

.

.

.

.

Who was that boy with inky black hair fighting a serpent?

_**Why was he seeing this? **_

_**Who was it?**_

_**Who?**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

Unbearable cold. A red-headed woman screaming as she was struck down.

Why did he flinch?

.

.

.

And then…

.

.

Nothing.

.

.

.

.

Harry gasped, gulping in great breaths of air. An impossible weight crushed his chest. But how was that possible? He was upright, limp as a ragdoll, unable to move, unable to speak. How was he breathing if he couldn't move? Where was he? It was strange. A gate seemed to have taken up residence in his mind, barring all his rational thoughts from exiting. All he could do was ask why, what, _where, _and try to stave off the panic that threatened to consume him.

Why was he here? It was something to do with...death? A scaly skinned woman missing something? No, that wasn't right. He was..done...gone...never to return. So why did he feel the pull of the living from the square of light above him? Who...how...no, that wasn't right.

Nonsense.

That was...what...all he could do. Be. Nonsensical. In his head, he giggled hysterically. The sound bubbled up in his throat. A strangled sort of high pitched choking that wouldn't be out of place in a haunted house. Or with a headless chicken pecking around the yard. No, headless chickens didn't peck, they had no beaks.

"_Hey, new guy!" _

Now he was hearing voices. It sounded familiar. Tickled something in the back of his brain. Had he heard it before? Maybe.

"_You can move, you know. Don't stay out there too long. You'll freeze."_

Why?

"Why?" The word burst forth before he could stop it. Wait. He moved. That...that was good. A good thing. A very good thing. Maybe he should try it again? "WHY?" Okay, that came out louder than he expected. There was no echo. What was this place? What was that voice? It had to be real, there was no question about it. If he could speak, the voice could be real. No, not could be. Was. "I CAN SPEAK!"

"_Of course you can speak, nitwit._" The voice suddenly became clear. "Just think yourself towards me. Don't freeze."

"Freeze?" he asked dumbly.

"Yes, Freeze. Stuck out there for weeks. Not the most pleasant thing."

Harry shook his head. Slowly, the gates were opening up, letting out his memories piece by piece. The voice sounded so familiar, it was on the tip of his tongue.

"How?"

The voice groaned. "Just think. It isn't that hard. I know you can't see me, but you can hear me. Just _think._"

Wait.

He knew how to do that. He was doing it right now. _More memories freed. _Alright, time for him to concentrate. Just think.

_Breathe._

_Think._

_Go._

"AAAAAAAHHHH!" He was whizzing through the air, so fast his eyes began to water. His limbs flailed uselessly at his side like deflated bicycle tires. Or like someone had removed the bones after he...after...THE QUIDDITCH MATCH! Lockhart, the rogue bludger. Dobby. Dumbledore. Ron. Hermione. It was all coming back. Everything, from his childhood at the Dursley's to his feelings for Natasha. Steve, Tony, the fight with Loki. The floodgates were open. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt. Again, he was screaming, this time in pain. Pictures flashed before his eyes, a lifetime worth of events being crammed back inside him within the space of a few seconds. _Something about..._

The voice…

"Oof!" He crashed headfirst into someone. A knee jabbed him in the stomach, an elbow knocked his head, inky hair obscured his vision. "Get off me!"

"Well, that wasn't the thanks I was expecting." The voice was painfully familiar. They crashed down onto the solid ground. His limbs could move again, he could think clearly.

The cloak was twisted around him. Harry stood, dead grass crunching under him. The cloak straightened itself out, swishing around his feet. The stone still fasted the two sides, Elder Wand secured in the holster. So...this was what lay behind the Veil. A limbo of sorts. Complete with strangely familiar rescuers. Speaking (well, thinking) of rescuers, Harry still needed to see who it was who had that voice. There was still one memory that was struggling to get out. Perhaps this was who it pertained to? Did he even want to find out?

"Are you alright? Not often that we get someone new here."

Harry finally looked up. What he saw had his heart dropping in his throat.

Standing in front of him, looking gaunt but healthy, covered in prison tattoos, wearing the same clothes as the day he died, was Sirius Black.

_Sirius._

"Sirius...it's you. Merlin, you're here!" Without thinking, Harry surged forward wrapping his arms around his Godfather. Harry was now taller than his by a slight margin, which was strikingly different than the last time he saw him. Tears welled again. For once, Harry didn't care. For once, he would let himself become that vulnerable fifteen-year-old whose godfather was murdered in front of his eyes.

Sirius pried his arms off, giving him a strange look. "Who are you? Do I know you?"

Harry almost flinched. "Sirius, it's me. Don't you...don't you recognise me?"

"Should I? Look, I don't know any blond Adonis looking people. I would remember if I did. And prank them until I looked better." He ran a hand through his hair. "It would take a while, though, with how I look now."

Harry gave a watery smile. Sirius was the same as the day he was lost to the world. Snarky, slightly arrogant, with a grin that would send the Weasley twins scampering for cover. Or, George. George would go scampering for cover. And no wonder he was acting weird. He didn't know about the whole sperm donor thing. At least Harry didn't think he did. Perhaps he did, but that didn't mean he would know what Harry looked like now. How to prove his identity?

_Aha! _

"Watch this." Harry took out his wand. Sirius's eyes bulged.

"How do you have Dumbledore's wand?"

Harry ignored the question, too busy concentrating on bringing his magic back to the surface. Although he had all his memories, the air was still thick, pressing down on his magic. It was hiding well. Not well enough that Harry couldn't bring it back. After all, it was his.

"_Expecto Patronum._"

A great silver stag bounded out of his wand. The pressing feeling was immediately alleviated, a feeling of weightlessness left in its wake. Prongs left behind glowing hoofprints. Instantly, it went towards Sirius, whose eyes were shining in wonder, in hope. He outstretched his hand, caressing the muzzle of the Patronus.

"How?" he whispered, stepping even closer to the stag. "How is this possible?"

"Sirius, it's me."

Sirius turned to Harry, looking at him as if for the first time. His eyes took in every detail, from Harry's low eyebrows to his large, calloused hands. The longer he looked, the more his eyes widened in both hope and fear. Finally, he locked eyes with Harry, realising who he was.

"_Harry,_" he breathed.

"Got it in one."

This time it was Sirius who surged forward, wrapping his arms around Harry, so tight he had trouble breathing. Harry wasn't one to complain. He returned the favour, just staying there in his godfather's embrace, in his arms. This...this was more than he could have asked for. This was worth all the fear, all hesitation, all the paperwork. For a long time, they stood there like that, neither willing to let go. There was no way to tell how long passed. Neither cared. They were reunited, even if Harry would have to leave soon. He wasn't going to think about that now. He was going to make the most of his time here with Sirius, no matter how fleeting it would be in the long term. Sirius's body shook slightly.

Eventually, Sirius pulled away, eyes red. Harry wouldn't usually peg him as one to cry. "How are you here? Scratch that, why are you here? Was there another battle? You should be alive, not in this hellhole. And why do you look so different? What happened? It can't have been long, you only look twenty."

Harry blinked. That was the sort of tirade that he expected from Hermione."There's so much to explain. I...I'm still getting over that you're here."

"Well, where did you think I would go?"

"I dunno, no one knew what was behind the Veil. We all just assumed you were gone. Forever."

"That ain't what happened."

"I can see that." Harry sighed. "Merlin, we've only been together for a few minutes and you're already pestering me." He sat down on the grass, absentmindedly pulling it out. Sirius flopped down next to him. "I'm here on an assignment, or a mission if you want to sound fancy. My boss doesn't like the idea of a possible necromancer running willy nilly across the world."

"Oh, you're here about _her_?" Sirius grimaced. "Yeah, that's fair. But seriously, why did your boss ask you to jump into the Veil? They do know there is no way out, right? You're stuck here forever. What possessed you to listen to them?" His eyebrows knitted together, fists clenching. "You can't just go around sacrificing your life like that. I know you have a saving people thing...but this is not how I wanted to meet again. You're still so young."

"I can get back out. I don't know how, but I know I can." Sirius sat up straighter, jaw dropped. "Crazy, right? Turns out I'm really bad at dying." He shook his head in disbelief, gazing at the square of light in the ceiling. "Is that the way out?"

"It's where people come from, yeah. No one can get out. Trust me, we've tried."

"Well, I guess I'll have to be the first, then."

"Yeah, you and your nineteen-year-old ass. Then again, you've always managed to pull off the impossible."

"Funny thing is, I'm older than I look.

"Oh yeah?"

"Turned thirty-two a few months ago. Had a great birthday."

"You're thirty-two? What genes did you get and where can I get me some of them?"

Harry chuckled. He wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject of his 'three parents situation' with Sirius. Perhaps the best way to do it was to be completely blunt. Get it over and done with. Sirius certainly wasn't one to beat around the bush, unless it was to do with a prank. In that case, he could drag things out for months on end. Harry had experience with this. To say it was frustrating would be a gross understatement. He thought that Sirius would appreciate this.

"I, uh, discovered…" The words lodged in his throat. _Typical._ Alright, Potter, get it over and done with. Spit the words out. The worst part will soon be over.

"What did you discover?" Sirius leaned forward, keen to hear the news.

"James isn't my biological father?" Harry cringed, waiting for the explosion.

Sirius didn't move. Didn't even blink. His body was a statue. He made a small noise, almost like a whine. Harry shrank down, wrapping his hands around his knees. He may be an adult, but Sirius' reaction was the worst thing he ever experienced. It was hell, not knowing what he was thinking, not knowing what to say, what to do. Would it have been a better idea to wear a glamour? Hide who he was? That wasn't something he'd done since 2011 when he discovered that Steve was alive.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have told you." Harry didn't even look at Sirius. It was like he was thirteen again, facing judgement from Professor Dumbledore. Not the fire-like anger, though. The quiet disappointment that got to him far more than yelling, the crack in the voice that betrayed how hurt they were at what you'd done.

"It...no, don't say that. Never say that. It isn't your fault." He chuckled slightly. "It all makes sense now. I was so confused when Lily said, 'he's our son, it doesn't matter where he came from or who his father is.' That sent Moony and me loopy for days."

"She said that?"

"She sure did. So did James. They loved you so much. Sure, it's a shock, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of what time we have here. I'm no fool, Harry. Never be afraid." He glanced down. "Who is your biological father? What happened?"

"Okay, first of all, there was no cheating happening." Sirius let out a breath. "You don't need to worry about that. Dad was infertile. So, a sperm bank in London, and here I am. There is nothing more to it.

"My biological father, who I live with now, is wonderful. He's stubborn, bull-headed and has the most righteous set of morals you will ever come across. Seriously, don't even try to sway him. He's an amazing soldier and cares for those around him so much that I sometimes think I'm imagining it. Fun fact, he was a soldier in World War Two."

"What's his name?"

"Steve Rogers." Sirius straightened. Harry snorted. "Ring any bells?"

"Your biological father is Steve Rogers, Captain America?"

"Yeah, crazy, isn't it? How do you know about him?"

"The best way to disappoint my mother, knowing about the walking flag. She went mental."

"Sounds like her…" Harry trailed off. There was something off, something moving towards them. Something..._someone._ Tinged with death, reeking of dark magic, so much so that Harry felt suffocated. Sirius seemed to be suffering in the same way. He stood, turning around, and came face to face with the most repulsive woman he'd ever seen.

She wasn't rotting away like the inferi were. Neither was she as beautiful as a siren. She sat somewhere in the middle. It was the little things that made Harry lock his jaw. The way her sunken eyes were glazed over yet saw everything. How her hands twitched, nails sharp as claws, begging to hurt someone. Her wand looked to be carved out of bone, black wisps circling the end of it. She was thin, emaciated, matted hair hanging around her face, yellowing teeth showing when she smiled knowingly at him. But that wasn't what made Harry take a step back from her. No, it was something far worse.

She was empty.

Where her soul would usually sit, there was nothing. Nothing. A vast pit, endless abyss. It was disgusting, it was evil, it reminded him of Voldemort. Who was this woman, this _thing? _It was her he was after. What did she do get to this point? How did she still live, be more than a vegetable without her soul? He shivered again. This was far worse than he expected.

"Sorry to cut the reverie short, Sirius," she sneered. Her voice was hoarse, wheezing, rattling in and out with every breath she took. Dementors sprang to mind. That made Harry hate her even more. "See, I've been waiting for you to arrive, have no idea how long I've been waiting. I nearly died trying to get you here." She giggled. "Now isn't that ironic? I can't quite die, I'm here. But with you, I can get out. With you, Harry, I can―"

"Alrighty, I'm going to cut you off right there. We don't need another one of your rants, we've heard them all before. Leave, please. We're catching up here, or can't you see?"

"Oh, I can see very well. I just don't have the energy to care about your poor little feelings right now." She raised her wand, firing a non-verbal spell at Sirius. Harry erected a shield. The spell harmlessly pinged off. Her lips thinned.

"Who are you?" asked Harry. Perhaps, with her penchant to prattle, she would let slip some vital information. He wasn't surprised she was after him. Being Harry Potter, it wasn't anything new. Being a part of the Avengers only heightened that.

"You mean you don't know?"

"Why would I know? You're some crazy necromancer lady who hacked into my dreams."

"Yes, I suppose I did do that, didn't I. Yes, that was very fun."

"Not for me, it wasn't."

"Wait, what do you mean, you hacked his dreams?" interrupted Sirius. "How the fuck did you do that? Scratch that. Why the fuck would you do that? I know that you have some serious mental issues going on, and don't even mention the necromancer side, but what drove you to do it."

"Some people have more powers than others, mutt. You'll find out soon enough why I did it. Sit down, the adults are talking." She turned to Harry. "You answered my call. You have no idea how long I've waited for this. I'll finally be free from this hellish prison."

Harry crossed his arms. "And what makes me think I will help you?"

"You're the Master of Death. It's your job to help me."

"No, it isn't. I don't quite think that you understand what being the Master of Death means, Vigneaux." The name came to the forefront of his mind. _Time to show her what it really meant to be the Master of Death. _"I don't help those who desecrate themselves or others. I have no true mastery over Death, no one does. It's just a title. What comes with the title is protecting others, helping those who deserve to be helped. You," Harry stepped ominously closer to her, "don't deserve that help. So go and check your priorities and come to terms with the fact that you're never getting out of here on your terms."

"You...this isn't right."

"Nothing ever is."

"You're supposed to help me!"

"I would never help someone who gave up their soul for power."

"That was the best decision I ever made." Her eyes began to grow dark, cracks appearing all across her face. "You should understand that. You should understand the most!"

"I will never understand."

"Uh, Harry, we should get out of here," said Sirius. "She's going to blow in a minute."

"No, we stay. This is who I'm after. I can take care of her, don't you worry."

"I'm your godfather, I'm obligated to worry."

"YOU FOOL!" screamed Vigneaux. She levelled her wand at Harry. "If you won't share your power, I suppose you'll have to die." Harry stayed silent, smirking at her. "_BOMBARDA!" _The curse impacted his chest. It exploded outwards, leaving a gaping hole that you could see through. The pain was so intense that stars danced in front of his eyes, the darkness encroaching the edge of his vision. He didn't stop. Didn't scream. Didn't show any indication of the pain apart from a slight grimace and the narrowing of his eyes.

"That won't work on me."

She didn't reply. Her eyes were fixated on the Resurrection Stone fastening the Invisibility Cloak. Her twitching hands reached out, groping in the air for it. Harry took a step back, placing a protective hand over the relic. She was transfixed. Harry's chest healed up, yet her eyes still stayed.

"How do you have that?" She rasped. "What gives you the right to wield such power?"

"The Resurrection Stone?"

"You fool, it is so much more. You know it, deep down inside you. That stone is so much more than what you think. Give it to me, I can use it properly. GIVE IT TO ME!" She dove forward, arms outstretched. Her eyes were fully black now, face cracked up like a smashed ceramic.

Harry sidestepped, but not soon enough. Her nails gouged into his cheek, digging so deep he could feel the air on his bones.

"Aagh!"

"Yes, that's right, hurt. I'll cause you endless amounts of pain until you give it to me! It is my right!"

Harry snapped.

"THIS IS NOT YOUR RIGHT! THE ONLY RIGHT YOU HAVE IS TO SUFFER FOR ALL THE PAIN YOU HAVE CAUSED. I KNOW ABOUT THE INFERI. I KNOW ABOUT ALL THE PEOPLE YOU KILLED. There is a reason you're here and I can feel it. I am not stupid, nor am I dumb. I know what you did, the lives you ruined. I'm not going to give you something that will only let you further your agenda. You're disgusting. CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"I―"

"No, you don't get to speak. What you get is this." He raised his wand and uttered an incantation that only he could use, only he could survive. It was one of the abilities that came with the Master of Death title. She was never going to be the same. Harry couldn't find it in himself to care.

Little wisps of black, the same type that whispered around her wand, began to escape her. She screamed when she realised what was going on, what he was doing to her.

"NO! YOU CAN'T!" She desperately tried to keep it in. "THIS ISN'T RIGHT!"

"This is as right as anything will ever be."

Vigneaux sank to her knees, no longer screaming. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. And this was as lost a cause as any.

"Please…"

"No," Harry spat. "You lived for hundreds of years leeching off the life force of others. Countless deaths have been caused because of you." He twisted his wand and the last wisps of black disappeared into it. If he wasn't careful, they would disappear inside him. To prevent this, he closed his eyes and muttered a second incantation. He knew the second the wisps were destroyed completely, never coming back.

Vigneaux's eyes fluttered back in her head. She slumped over, crumpling to the ground. Harry bound her with ropes and double-checked that she was unconscious. Fury was going to be pleased; the mission was completed three weeks early. This was a win for Harry.

A sharp breath sounded behind him.

"Harry, what's going on? How are you alive? What the fuck is going on?" exclaimed Sirius, who was currently losing his mind. This was beyond anything he'd seen before. Anything he would ever see again. "What did you do to her?"

"I stripped her of her magic so she will never be able to use it again. I'll also be taking her out, as she isn't truly dead in here, and this place only feeds her powers. Don't worry, she is still alive. My superiors have several questions for her, as do I." He fingered the Resurrection Stone, wondering what could have caused her to get into such a tizzy over it. He needed to take a closer look at it. "And when I said I have a problem dying, I meant it. Master of Death and all, immortal for the foreseeable future."

"That...that's a lot. Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"You could never get on my bad side."

"Sap."

"May as well call me a tree."

Sirius groaned. "That was abysmal."

"You're welcome."

Sirius sighed. "You really should be going. I know we haven't had long, but this place, it does things to you. If you can leave, you should. I'll be okay here. I've got a few friends. Murphy, nice guy, a bit of a homicidal streak. Anya, her idea of playing a prank is lighting my house on fire. Dayan, he's just a nut. I'll be alright."

Harry's eyes widened. He could do something, something good, something for Sirius. He would probably be comatose for days afterwards, but wasn't a part of his 'job' helping people pass on? Guiding them to the afterlife? "Sirius, I have to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"If you had a choice, would you pass on?"

"Yes. I would finally be at peace. Don't get my hopes up, though."

"I can do it."

"You can...what?"

"I can help you pass on. Help you be with Mum, Dad, Remus and Tonks, the Longbottoms, Dumbledore, everyone. I know how to do it. I can do it."

"You...can?" Sirius looked at him with eyes that were all too hopeful. "I would give anything…" He rushed forward, enveloping Harry in a hug even tighter than before. "I don't usually give hugs. You've caught me here." The words were thick with tears.

"Yes, I can do it. I can do it now."

"Will it hurt?"

"It's quicker than falling asleep." Harry pulled back, choking on the mirror of when he was in the forest. "Goodbye, Sirius. Enjoy it, okay? And remember me."

"How could I ever forget?"

"You won't."

Harry took a deep breath, placing his hand on Sirius's shoulder. A bright silver light shone out, bright and brighter until Sirius was nowhere to be seen. It was so quick that it happened in the space of a blink. The heavy air lightened, coming to a sense of calm, a sense of peace. And even though Harry would miss Sirius, would grieve his godfather, he was grateful to have one last chance to talk to him. And to help him finally be at peace?

That was what set his heart to rest.

* * *

The next few days flew by in a blur. Harry took Vigneaux out of the Veil, past the inferi and to SHIELD, where she was taken into custody. He then returned to England for Winona's birthday. Time in the Shadow Realm, as he had named it, passed differently, which was something he was sure Hermione would love to look into. He was still light, still elated, from his conversation with Sirius.

He arrived at their door, present for Winona clutched in his hand. Hermione would disapprove, while Ron would whoop in exhilaration. It was just how his friends were. Because it would be extremely obvious what the gift was, he put it in a long, thin box. It wouldn't do if the mystery of what it was was ruined the second she saw it. That, and he wanted to escape the wrath of Hermione for as long as was humanly possible. Despite the fact he knew that she would warm up to it, she was still extremely scary when she wanted to be.

The bright red door opened, Ron standing behind it. Rather amusingly, his hair blended in almost perfectly with it. That had to be the handiwork of Hermione, who knew how to play a good prank or two when she wanted too.

"Harry, you're back! Just in time, too. Winona is running up the walls waiting for you."

He chuckled. "Why am I not surprised? She has endless energy. Sometimes I wonder where she gets it from."

"I don't wonder sometimes, I wonder always. Honestly, it's exhausting. At least she's mellowed out a bit. She was a literal demon when she was five."

Harry didn't have the chance to reply. He was bombarded with several children. They clung to his legs like limpets, bowling him to the ground. Ron had the reflexes to catch the present that Harry threw him. He didn't want it to get damaged. It would never work the same if it did. He also didn't want to give Winona a broken birthday present, even if it technically was her fault that she broke it.

"Uncle Harry! You're back. Don't go away for that long again," pouted Winona.

"Alright, I won't. But save that sadness for a rainy day, button. Today is your birthday. There's no time for sour moods here."

"Can we open presents now? Please, please, please? Please, Dad, please?" Winona changed her tactics the instant she laid eyes on the massive, scarlet wrapped package her father was carrying. Harry used the distraction to pry three children off his legs. No matter how much he loved them, they still scared him to no end. He shivered to think of what they could do if they stayed attached to his legs.

"You'll have to ask your mother, miss."

As if summoned by a charm, Hermione appeared from around the corner. "Ask your mother what?"

"Can we open presents now?"

"I don't see why not."

Years later, Harry would swear that Winona turned into a human hurricane, rushing herself over towards the coffee table containing gifts so quick she was almost invisible to the eye. The destruction she left in her wake, however, was not invisible. Harry took his present from Ron and placed it down next to the other ones. They all sat down around the crowd of kids. Each one of them was clamouring to see Winona open their gift. He did have to admit that it was utterly adorable. No, not adorable. Little maniacs in the making.

When it came to his present, Harry watched anxiously. When Winona ripped the wrapping off and saw what it was, she squealed in delight, running her hands over the handle, fiddling with the bristles. The broom wasn't top of the line, as he didn't want to give her one so fast she would fall off it, but it wasn't so slow that she would have a boring time.

The rest of the party passed in a blur. Everything went well, except for the many, many, _many_, stinging hexes sent his way for giving Winona a broom. And the book on Animagus transformations that Hermione gave him after he inquired after it. Even though she was nice, at the moment, she was terrifying. She would mellow out.

Eventually.

Merlin, Hermione was scary.

* * *

A few days later, in the evening, Harry found himself sitting in his room, examining the Resurrection Stone. He turned it over and over in his hands, seeing if there was anything new to discover. He had to admit, something about it did feel different. Stronger, more lethal, cold. Even more so than before. While the Elder Wand was now warm and alive in his grasp, the Stone never changed.

He picked at one of the gouged lines of the Gaunt family crest. All of a sudden, an orange light began shining out, so bright he needed to squint. To his astonishment, the rest of the stone began to crack, revealing another stone beneath, glowing a bright orange. What he thought was the Resurrection was only a casing for what lay inside.

When the bright orange stone fell into his hand, the casing disintegrated into nothingness, a feeling of...rightness swept through him. He didn't know what this strange artefact was, why it was contained within the Resurrection Stone, or why it pulsed with such raw power that he almost burned himself. As he bent down further to inspect it, he found himself becoming entranced with it. Not getting lost within the strange, swirling stone, merely interested. This...this was new. Something for him to look into. Perhaps it had something to do with the sceptre. Bringing it into the experiments he was planning could be a good idea...

Outside, people looking up saw an impossible light show coming out of the windows of Avengers Tower. They marked it down as another quirk of New York and kept on their way.

* * *

Across the universe, the Mad Titan looked up when he felt the awakening of another Infinity Stone, and smiled.

* * *

_Okay, I just want to get over the vital stuff before I launch into my massive Author's Essay below. There is a poll on my profile for what Harry's animagus form should be. Please go and vote, I appreciate your feedback. I got a lot of requests for birds, which I like the idea of, so whittled it down to three. Second, this chapter was a monster to get out, and I hope that I made up for the delay with the last one. There was no hope of making it shorter, the original version was 15000, and there was no way I was putting that out. I hope you enjoyed this shortened but still long version. Third, I have put something below that may be of interest:_

_**I thought some of you may be interested in a list of what Harry's powers are as the Master of Death. They are as follows**: He has increased strength, increased stamina, is able to sense things to do with death, can survive most injuries, and is able to see when people are going to die, though he doesn't use this power. There are more that may be introduced, but that's it at the moment._

**_Okay, now, onto the Author's Essay. Please read :)_**

_When I started this story back on the 24th of February, it was a silly little challenge. I wanted to see how long I could go updating daily, without a plan. I had every intention to abandon this story when I finished the challenge, marking it as complete. The thing is, the more I wrote it, the more I wanted to write. Plans began popping up in my head. Every time I sat down to write, uncontrollable excitement filled me, in a way that I've never experienced before. I realised that there was so much more I wanted to do with the story, so much more that it could be. I couldn't abandon it, not when there was such a spark in my chest. I didn't know where it would go, nor where we would end up. I drew up a rough plan and got writing, settling for weekly updates on Sunday._

_And here we are six and a bit months later, at one of the most important milestones I have ever reached with my writing. One hundred thousand words, over 500 reviews, 2000 plus follows, 1400 plus follows, and so many views I still think I am hallucinating. Sure, there have been rough patches, but it is you guys who got me through them. It was your kind reviews, your wonderful engagement that made me sit down and write more of it. Sure, I still had that fire, but couple it with the motivation you guys gave me, and I felt like I could conquer the world. As far as I am concerned, I have conquered the world. _

_Right now, I have been typing for seven hours straight. My fingers are shaking, I can't feel my arms, my eyes are going in and out of focus, my legs won't stop jigging, and yet I still sit here. I am so happy that I nearly cried earlier today. This story, this community, means so much to me that I don't quite know how to deal with it. There are days that I wake up and think I'm still dreaming. How could I be so lucky to have this as my reality? I'm just the small sixteen-year-old girl from New Zealand, not some successful fanfiction author. I have to slap myself, tell myself that this is me, that this is real. I am so lucky to have each and every one of you._

_There is another thing I must confess, too. A few months back, there was a time where I struggled to write. I was getting negative reviews, and going through a difficult time. Then I was pulled back from the edge by those of you who were kind enough to leave reviews, to favourite and follow, let me know that my work was appreciated. There are several people who I would like to thank personally:_

**_Geekymom:_**_ Your reviews always brighten my day. Thank you so much. I don't know what more I can say._

**_AliceCullen3:_**_ Every time you review you leave a smile on my fave. Thank you for sticking with me._

_**Makyrayami Ookami: **You've done so much for me. I always think of you when I update, even though I don't know you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart._

**_Octaviaxanadu22:_**_ You know exactly how much you mean to me. You make me smile every time I speak to you, especially with how you put up with my ramblings. Thank you for sticking with me (and this fic) through thick and thin._

_There as so many more people I could thank, just know that you are appreciated. I love each and every one of you, so, so much. I'll leave it here, don't want this to get too long, do we? Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can't wait for everything that comes from this moment._

_Sincerely (with all the hearts in the world, the galaxy, the UNIVERSE),  
Mariadoria_

_P.S: I love all of you. Alright, I'll stop now. Love you all. :)_


	31. Lamentations of a bitter Leaf

Harry flinched as the light increased once again. The stone became white-hot. He dropped it with a hiss, shaking his hand. The pain didn't abate, only became stronger. What the fuck was this thing? Still shaking his hand, Harry looked down at the floor where the not so innocent looking stone was sitting in a haze of smoke. Wait. It wasn't sitting there. It was quite happily burning through the carpet and beginning work on the floor. His eyes widened.

He quickly scooped the strange burning stone up. The blistering pain started up right away. Harry grit his teeth and wandlessly summoned his dragonhide gloves from his wardrobe. They flew over and he shoved them on. The relief was instantaneous. His hands still had hot coals dancing a tango across them but there was now a barrier that was going to stay in place until he figured out just what in Merlin's name was going on.

The stone, now that it wasn't intent on searing a hole through his hands, held a familiar energy. It was still the Resurrection Stone...just different. The energy inside and around it, from what he could feel, was more wild, more powerful. There was something about it that intoxicating orange glow he knew would make other people lose his mind. He wasn't quite sure how he knew. The stone was...almost sentient. There was something endless about it. Like he was looking down into an endless abyss that only he could see. Disconcerting was certainly the right word for it, along with comfort.

The feeling it gave off was in the same vein as the Sceptre. Wait. This new version of the Resurrection Stone could help in the experiments with the Sceptre. There was no reason for him to wait now. He had to tell the team about his invulnerability to it, as well as how he is willing to be a test subject. Tony and Bruce would be able to figure something out, something big, something that would help them in the fight.

Harry made duplicate copies of the dragonhide gloves that wouldn't disappear into nothing in the next two days (he would get more actual pairs within the next day, it was only a quick portkey to Diagon Alley). He didn't want the others to get burnt as he did. They didn't heal as quick as he did, though it did seem to be slowed down by the power the stone possessed. As he was doing that, he bustled past the wardrobe, catching a glance of his reflection in a mirror. He frowned. He really should update his look; it had been pretty much the same for the last ten years. Even Natasha changed hers fairly often, though her job did entail changing her appearance to fit into places.

Harry shook his head. The last thing he needed to be thinking about right now was changing his look. That would come later. The gloves, and the stone which was humming happily in his palm were what he needed to focus on right now. The copies of the gloves were tucked into his pockets, the Elder Wand in his holster.

Well, there was no time to lose.

He turned on his heel, disappearing with a crack. Not even a second later, he appeared in the living room. Steve, who was lounging on the couch, lazily sketching the New York Skyline, jumped. Harry gave him an apologetic look before asking:

"JARVIS, can you get everyone to come up here, please? It's quite urgent."

"Of course, Mr Potter." Harry was so focussed he didn't even try to get JARVIS to call him Harry. "They will be up within the minute."

"Thanks."

Steve flipped the sketchbook shut, zipping the pencil back into his little pencil case. "Couldn't you have walked."

"Not enough time."

"What's got you in such a tizzy?"

"Look at this." Harry held out his gloved hands, showing Steve the stone. "Don't touch, it burns," he added when Steve reached out. "There's a reason I'm wearing gloves."

"What is that?"

"It used to be the Resurrection Stone. Something happened in London to awaken it, though. I don't know what it is, but it shares similar energy to the Sceptre and the Tesseract. It may be of similar origin."

"Where did it come from?"

"It was inside the Resurrection Stone." Harry sighed. "I'll explain it when the others get here. That way I don't have to do it twice."

"Mr Potter, it seems that Mr Stark and Dr Banner have experienced a slight hiccup. They will be around five minutes."

"That's okay," said Harry. The stone wasn't burning through his gloves. Five minutes couldn't matter? Now that he was here, there wasn't such a large rush. In the scheme of things, that short of a time period wouldn't matter.

"Harry, I have something to show you, while it's just us two. And while Nat isn't here."

"Oh?"

"Do you remember that photo I snapped of you and her?"

"How could I forget?"

"I, uh...here, let me just show you." He grabbed his sketchbook and leafed through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Here."

Harry looked down and a smile instantly took over his face. It was a gentle smile, fond. The page that Steve was showing him was a pencil sketch of him and Natasha. Her head rested on his shoulder, his arm around hers. They both looked relaxed, at peace. In the picture, he wore the same smile he did now. It was just after he placed Loki's helmet in the trophy case, after his conversation with her.

"That...that's wonderful." Harry didn't quite know what to say. "Thank you."

"I figured you may want something to remember that moment by. I'll also give you the photo, a bit later, when you're not holding what could possibly be another sceptre situation."

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

Steve shut the sketchbook, placing it down on the coffee table. He looked immensely proud of himself. These thoughts were cut off by the elevator door dinging open. Harry turned around, laughter bubbling up in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

Tony tumbled out of the elevator, hair sticking up in all directions. It was worse than his old hair, not that it was much better now. His face bore evidence of a particularly sooty explosion. Behind him, Bruce carried the same sooty face. He managed to look far more dignified, calmly strolling out of the elevator and to the couch. An indignantly spluttering Tony hauled himself to the floor and rolled over the back of the couch.

As was normal.

"We're here, as requested. What is so urgent that you needed us here immediately?" asked Tony, still righting himself. "We were in the middle of something."

"I assure you, this is infinitely more important."

"How?"

"I think it may have something to do with the Sceptre and Tesseract. A similar power source, though it feels far more powerful. Here, look." He thrust his right hand forward, digging through his left pocket for the gloves. He grabbed the three pairs (Clint was also away on a mission, the same as Natasha) and chucked them around. "Put those on, then you'll be able to handle it. The last thing I want is you guys getting burned."

"That thing feels wrong," said Bruce as he pulled the gloves on. "All...dead"

"That is something we can agree on for once," said Tony, throwing Bruce a rather venomous glare. What on Earth happened down in the workshop. Better not to ask.

"That's because it's one of the Deathly Hallows. Or it was until it did whatever it just did." Harry was met with blank stares. "Okay, all you need to know is that they're ancient artefacts from my world, apparently created by Death, and I have all three. Yes, Tony, I will give you a more in-depth explanation later." Tony nodded in satisfaction.

"So, what, you want us to look into it."

"Yes, that would be ideal." Harry bit his lip. "And one more thing."

"What's that?" asked Bruce.

"I think that I may be immune to the effects of the Sceptre and I would like you to run some tests on me to see if we can develop the immunity into something to use against possible future enemies? Or a defensive thing? I don't know."

Tony took a deep breath, steepling his fingers. "So what you're telling me is that you may have an immunity to the sceptre."

"Yes?" Harry answered, not quite sure where this was going.

"That you've known about for six months."

"Ah." So that was where it was going.

"And you didn't think that you should tell us sooner?"

"The moment didn't seem right?" Even to his own ears, he sounded lame.

"Give me the fucking stone. I'll get the sceptre back from SHIELD." Tony held his hand out. Harry was suddenly reluctant to part with the stone. There was something pulling it to him. He forced himself to hand it over, dropping it into Tony's palm. He cringed the second it left his possession. "I'll admit, this could be good, very good, in fact. That doesn't excuse your absolute stupidity."

"Woah, Tony, calm down," said Steve, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"No, I won't. I'm amped up and frustrated. Now let me steal your son and interrogate him about everything."

Harry shivered. Maybe this was the wrong decision. Tony was scary when he put his mind to something. He still allowed himself to be pulled along, not too soon to hear Bruce whisper, "I'm sorry."

_Fuck._

* * *

Three days later, Harry was sitting in the lounge, happily perusing the book on Animagi he picked up from Ron and Hermione. He was on an absolute high. Once Tony managed to get over his frustration at Harry, he turned into an absolute whirlwind. The interrogation wasn't that bad, more of a flurry of questions that he was easily able to answer. Tony even made him consider some things he'd never thought about the before. It was really quite fascinating.

That irresistible pull to the Stone seemed to have lessened a significant amount, even though it was definitely still present. Harry was quite comfortable leaving it in the very capable hands of Tony and Bruce, even if he did go down several times a day to check on the two scientists. So engrossed in their project were they that they didn't even notice him peeking in the door.

He turned his mind back to the book. It was nearly finished. The thought of becoming an Animagus was a tempting one. It could give him more abilities that couldn't be found when he was human. If he could turn into an animal to escape confines or surprise the enemy, that would be a great help. In the upcoming fight, Harry would take every ability he could.

He wasn't going to kid himself. Hiding under a rock wasn't his style. Harry knew that there was a bigger enemy out there. His voice echoed around Harry's head, still occasionally infiltrated his dreams. One day, the owner of the voice was going to attack, and Harry was going to be ready for that day. The Avengers were also informed of this and were preparing accordingly. Soon Natasha and Clint would return from their respective missions. He would tell them the second they returned. The time for downtime was over; they had a war to prepare for, whether it be in two weeks or two years.

They would be ready for it whenever or wherever it came.

He finished the last page, slamming the book shut. Becoming an Animagus would be an excellent idea, Harry decided. Even if he never needed to use the ability in battle, it would be excellent to have it as a backup.

The only problem was how long it took to become an Animagus. By far the most tedious part would be keeping a mandrake leaf for a month. Making the potion and drinking it during a lightning storm would be a breeze. He was slightly more than adequate at making potions now, and Thor had a visit scheduled for a month and a half, to come and visit his friends as well as spend some time with Jane. Harry didn't think Thor would mind creating a lightning storm for him to transform in. If anything he would be eager to help a friend, knowing his caring nature. Hopefully.

"Hey, Steve," Harry called. Steve looked up from the other side of the lounge. "I won't really be able to talk for the next month. More like mumbles and very garbled words. I'm starting to tomorrow."

"Okay?" His eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, I'm doing the animagus transformation. I have to keep a leaf in my mouth for a month and don't want to swallow it."

"That is...interesting. I presume that it lets you transform into an animal?"

"Yeah, got it in one."

"Just wizards?"

"Sorry."

"Ah, that's alright. It was a nice idea to entertain, though."

Harry smirked. "If you want, I could turn you into an animal."

Steve paled. "I do not want a repeat of the Natasha goose situation." Harry sniggered. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Your loss. Oh, and one more thing." He got up, ready to go and get the leaf from the apothecary it New York's version of Diagon Alley, the great underground cavern full of so many colours it almost blinded him. "Please keep this from Tony for as long as possible. I don't fancy his interrogations again. It was fine, but two within four days is far too many."

"Will do." Steve gave a thumbs up.

"Thanks."

* * *

The leaf was bitter.

After ten days of having it in his mouth, Harry came to the conclusion that it was the worst thing he had ever tasted. Well, maybe not the absolute worst. It was certainly the most intrusive, though. It left a constant aftertaste in his mouth. Every meal he ate was tainted.

And that was nothing on how frustrating it was to keep the damn leaf in his mouth. If he could, Harry would use a sticking charm on it. Unfortunately, the magic would interfere.

Damn leaf.

His brooding was interrupted by a very familiar black and red blob at the edge of his vision. He twisted around, lolling over the back of the couch. An upside-down Natasha, looking as good as she ever did, stepped out of the elevator. Harry stood, making his way over to her.

"Welcome back," he said. Cotton balls may as well have been stuffed inside his cheeks for how garbled his speech was. Damn leaf.

"You're sounding rather stuffed."

"Yup."

"What have you done this time."

Tony appeared around the corner, grinning madly. "He's got a leaf in his mouth and is using it to turn into an animal. No idea how it works, but I will find out."

"Mmmhmm."

"I will, Potter. Mark my words." He slinked back around the corner, leaving a very confused Natasha and a frustrated Harry.

"How long has he been like that?"

"Days." Harry felt the leaf tickling the back of his tongue and wrestled back into place, between his cheek and teeth.

"Oh dear."

"Yup. How was your mission?"

"Painfully easy." She flopped back onto the couch. "They didn't suspect a thing."

If Harry heard correctly, she was almost complaining. Only Natasha. It was good to have her back.

* * *

The next month passed in a strange fashion. Eventually, Harry managed to get the leaf out. The no talking thing was extremely annoying. To finally be able to gabble all he wanted was a relief, and he wouldn't shut up for days. The potion was complete, Thor was arriving later that afternoon, and Tony was nearly finished with the experiments.

At last, they were all standing in a room. Well, Harry was in the middle while the rest of the Avengers were standing behind the glass. Tony eagerly waited to record everything, willing Harry to begin. The storm was raging outside, courtesy of Thor ("It would be my pleasure, son of Steve.") and Harry held the vial in one hand, his wand in the other.

"Okay, here goes nothing," he muttered. He downed the foul-tasting potion and muttered the incantation, placing his wand directly over his heart.

There was an immediate change.

Lightning crackled across his skin. It didn't hurt, merely tickled. Then his vision blacked out, leaving him to see nothing.

When it came back, Harry was closer to the ground than before. He looked up at the glass, which was slightly reflective, and almost fell over in shock.

Staring back at him was a great golden bird with three pairs of wings, lightning crackling across his feathers. He recognised his new form immediately.

A _thunderbird._

Oh, this was going to be good.

* * *

_Okay, I know this was short, but I needed to get something out before my brain exploded. Exams are driving me up the wall. Next chapter will be going more in-depth to the animagus transformation, the mind stone, and preparations for something that I'm not disclosing yet, hehe. I am very tired. I burnt myself out after the last chapter._

_Next chapter will be out on Sunday at 11 pm. It will be a lot longer. Around 5-6k, I think. It needs to be, for me to get in what I want to get in._

_Okay, talk to you soon. **BY THE WAY, I GOT A NEW COVER IMAGE AND IT IS GLORIOUS. HARRY's APPEARANCE WILL BECOME THE SAME NEXT CHAPTER. I really need to sleep BAI**_

_Sincerely,_  
_Mariadoria_


	32. Silent, stoic, secretly scared

_Holy shit._

The air under his wings was glorious. How it carried him up, letting him coast through the amber-stained skies, ruffling his feathers and whistling in his ears, was utterly..._right. _This was incredible. Harry knew he'd always liked flying, there was no question about it. He never realised just how right it was, though. Not until this moment, where he was soaring through the skies, with no one able to stop him. Nothing could stop him when he was up here.

Nothing except the looming deadline. For a week, he'd studied the best time to go out flying so he couldn't be spotted by those in New York. In the end, he settled on the evening, where the sky was orangey-gold, a similar colour to the plumage of the thunderbird. Coupled with the fact that if he transformed while under the disillusionment charm and flying up high, no one was likely to spot him. It was also determined that the disillusionment charm only stuck for an hour before wearing off. That was okay, he thought.

No.

No, it wasn't.

An hour was barely enough time to revel in how free he felt, how light he was, how powerful the beats of his wings were. How could it be? Harry would quite happily spend hours up here. There were no worries, no cares, no responsibilities.

So, when he flew back to the landing pad of Avengers Tower and the charm wore off, he sat for a few minutes, still a thunderbird. The skyline of them, slowly becoming a silhouette, was almost enough to quash the bitter disappointment that rose within him. He would have to face reality, and the results of the tests with the mind stones, soon. For now, he would sit here and enjoy the quiet.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he felt like this. It was nice. Quiet. It couldn't last, though. Time to go back inside and face the music. And by face the music, he meant staying on the ground. After a flight like that, everything else was painted in shades of grey, while the sky above was screaming colour.

With a sigh that sounded like a very pathetic warble, Harry turned back into his normal self. Without the massive wingspread of seven metres (Tony was adamant about measuring every aspect of his thunderbird form), Harry felt very small. Now was no time to feel sorry for himself, though. Waiting inside were the results of the testing with the mind stone, the results of weeks of tireless toiling.

He squared his shoulders.

_Time to face the music._

He was about to walk inside when something flitted through the back of his mind. It was cold, steadfast, _deadly. _Harry stopped in his tracks. He knew that feeling. He'd only felt it once, but he could never forget it. In a second, that rumbling voice would be echoing around his head, demeaning him, drawing him in.

Instead, all it said was: "_Fool. Your time is running out._"

The Resurrection Stone, fastening the invisibility cloak together, pulsed, so hot it almost burned. Harry didn't notice. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. He knew that tone. Had heard it before. That was the tone of a man who was prepared for war, who knew what he wanted and was on his way to get it. The type of man who was arrogant enough to warn his enemies that he was coming. He had to warn the others, assemble the team once again, not even a year after the Battle of New York.

At that point, Harry didn't care that there was someone in his head. He was sprinting, they barely had any time at all. The familiar halls of Stark Tower blurred together until he reached the lab where the tests took place. Tony, Natasha, Steve, Clint and Bruce were surrounding a table in the centre of the room. Holograms hung in the air, the sceptre gem glinting ominously in the middle of the table.

"Ah, good to see you, smaller Cap," said Tony, looking up from the holograms. "Ready to hear the re—"

"No time," interrupted Harry. "We have to hurry. We can't rely on that now."

"Harry, what's going on?" asked Natasha.

"He's coming."

"Who?" asked Steve. The team was looking mildly panicked at this time, knowing how much it took to get Harry worked up like this. Sure, he got annoyed, but this was different. This was near panic, desperation for something to happen.

Harry grabbed his hair in frustration. "I don't know who. All I know is that he is related to the mind stone, tried to get me to join him and is extremely dangerous. I think he may have something to do with Loki and the Chitauri."

"Woah, slow down." Tony made calming motions with his hands. "Are you serious about this?"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that I'm not fucking serious, Stark," Harry growled. The room became notably colder, lights flickering as Harry's anger became more potent by the second. "We have two days tops. This guy, I know his type. They give a warning, wait the minimum amount of time and then strike. So no, this isn't a fucking joke. We have to be ready." He swallowed, voice thick. "I'm not losing anyone close to me ever again. So don't question me."

The room was silent. No one spoke. No one moved. Then:

"Alright, guys, you heard him. Let's get moving." Steve stood, moving toward the exit.

The rest of the team followed.

Silent.

Stoic.

_Secretly scared._

* * *

The next day was a whirlwind and a half. There wasn't a wasted minute. At midday, when the sense of impending doom pressed down heavier and heavier, Harry was in his suite changing into his new and upgraded gear. Dragonhide armour mixed with tactical SHIELD gear, in a colour scheme of dark blue and black. He fastened the invisibility cloak, which was now an iridescent blue, and strode out into the main common room.

No words needed to be said. Everyone knew the gravity of the situation. SHIELD was informed, as were the defence forces. Something was coming, something big, they just didn't know what. It was a waiting game now.

Harry was looking for one person in particular. One with red hair and a penchant for electrocuting her enemies. After a short while of looking, he found her, reading over notes on Loki for the umpteenth time. A small smile crept over his face.

"Yes?" she asked, not even taking her eyes off the notes. "I thought we couldn't waste a moment. Those were your exact words."

"Yeah, well, I don't consider this a waster moment, Nat." She stood, walking over to him.

"Then what is it that has you so worked up." She smiled slightly. "Don't try and hide it under that ridiculous armour. I can see it plain as day. So why don't you tell me?" Natasha crossed her arms.

"Well," Harry began, his throat suddenly drying up, "there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while. I figured that this was a good time to do that, what with the fact that we might not live through this."

"No, that's wrong. You're worried that I won't live through this. We both know that you have a slight problem with dying." One step closer to him. "You don't need to worry about me, I can handle myself."

"I know you can. That doesn't mean I can't l—care about you."

"Oh, for God's sake, stop tripping over your words. I know what you want to say, Harry, I have since you got these feelings."

"You...have?" _Stupid question, Potter, she's Natasha Romanoff._

"Of course."

"That's...nice."

She raised an eyebrow, finger tapping. "So, are you going to come out and say it? Or do I have to do the talking." Harry moved his mouth but no words came out. "Alright then."

And then she stood up and kissed him. It was deep and desperate, and everything he ever wanted. It was over far too quickly, and as she pulled back, he could see the same feelings in her usually guarded eyes.

"If we never get the chance to do that again, that was everything I dreamed of. So, yeah, now you know."

"Now I know." She pulled him in for another kiss, shorter this time, but just as wonderful. "Not that I didn't before." She took a step back, returning to the table. "I've got to read over these one more time. You go and prepare some more." He nodded, knowing that that was what needed to be done, even if he really wanted to stay with her.

"Okay."

Just as he was about to leave the room, Natasha spoke: "I'll be okay, you know."

He gave a smile. "I know."

* * *

One hour later, despite their ceaseless preparation, the world exploded.

* * *

_Hi, it's been a while. Exams are hectic, and I've been in a bit of a downward spiral. Sorry for the short length, it really was a slog to get this out. I hope that you enjoyed it, though, short as it is._

_I regret to inform you that I am going to be taking a break from this story, from all my stories, as I have a lot of things coming up the require my attention. I have my dance medals, for musical theatre and tap, NCEA exams (which are not nice), show week for Wizard of Oz and the rehearsals before it, which entails twelve hour rehearsal days, and my Grade Eight musical theatre exam with Trinity College. After this, I will be returning to this story, rest assured. I just need to focus on these things more at the moment. Things will still be happening behind the scenes, such as planning, but for the moment this story is on hold. I should be back around December 7th, if my maths is correct, with the next story._

_Also, relationship, finally. And Thanos. Thanos isn't good._

_That's all for now._

_Farewell until the next time, my dear, dear readers,  
Mariadoria_


	33. A Twisted Symphony

_Just a quick note: Because it has been a while since I have uploaded a chapter, it may be a good idea to go back and read the last few, just to reacquaint yourself with the storyline. This is merely a suggestion; do whatever you see fit. I want you to have the best reading experience possible. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

_The first strand of blond hair falling to the ground as he tidied up his bird's nest of a hairstyle._

_Discovering that he wasn't who he thought he was._

_Battling with inner demons and hating people who had nothing to do with what was now his life._

_Becoming the man he was now, through trial and error, meeting those who he added to his family._

Harry's life flashed before his eyes like a grotesque kaleidoscope and he found himself thinking: _Not again. Not this time._

_I'll stop him._

_**No matter the cost.**_

* * *

As the blazing sun began to set over the New York skyline, everything _switched. _The floor to ceiling windows of Avengers Tower shattered, glass flying inwards. The creaking of metal coupled with screeching concrete created a terrible symphony that could be heard all over the city. Through the dust now swirling lazily through the hazy air, the outline of a spaceship could be seen. It hovered, letting out a neverending barrage of bombs to utterly destroy the tower.

Harry screamed in agony as a large steel beam landed on his leg. Blood splattered up onto his face. "Fuck!" The entire tower was collapsing around him. It wouldn't be long before the entire thing was mere rubble on the ground with his twisted body hidden within the remains. ground.

A faint roar met his ears. Angry. _The Hulk. _There was no way that Hulk would be stopped by a building. After the warning, Stark made sure to keep one of his suits near at all time so he could slip into it at a moments notice and escape. Clint...Harry was pretty sure that Clint was up on the roof, keeping a lookout. With his reflexes, it wouldn't be hard to spring to another building. Thor was currently on Asgard. That left Steve and Natasha, who were in a room above him.

Gritting his teeth and grasping the elder wand, Harry twisted. With a crack, he disappeared and reappeared in the crumbling room a story above.

"AGH―" Harry hacked up blood, leaning on the wall to stop from falling over. His right leg, just above the knee, was missing. The jagged end of his bone stuck out, sinew and muscle clinging on for dear life. Red coloured the floor and his vision. He swallowed the pain, grunting out, "Steve! Natasha! Are you in here?"

He prayed for an answer.

For a second, there was nothing.

Then, a very faint, "We're coming! Help us lift this beam!" _Natasha! _

He hopped towards the sound, finding a gap in the concrete with fingers tucked under it. Even for Steve and Natasha combined, it was too heavy. Jumping out of the window wasn't an option, seeing as they were too high up. Lifting the beam was the only way to get out. Harry tucked his own fingers under it, leaning on a wall for balance. Even though he could feel his leg beginning to grow back, for an injury as large as this it was a long process. It would take at least ten minutes. Those were minutes they couldn't spare. He would just have to make do.

He started heaving upwards, feeling the strain on his arms almost immediately. Why did concrete have to be so damn heavy? Hang on…._fuck. _Harry was being incredibly inane. He was a wizard, with a wand, who could do wondrous things with a flick of that wand and a few choice words. What was he doing, heaving like this when he could easily help in another way?

"I'm letting go. Just hold on."

The muffled voice of Steve came back. "Be quick, I don't know how much longer we can hold this."

Harry didn't reply. Gently easing his arms back from the concrete, he got out his wand and cast spells to enforce the concrete around the slab they were trying to lift, before hitting it with a featherlight charm. It shot upwards, crashing into the ceiling. Steve and Natasha dove through before it could fall down again.

They looked absolutely dreadful. Steve's hair was full of debris, grime coating his face. His costume was torn in several places, blood dripping down from his temple, lip, and hand. Natasha wasn't in a much better situation. Though her face was disturbingly blank, even more so than usual, her nose was slightly crooked and red. The same could be said for her leg, splayed and swollen, despite no grimace marring her face.

They didn't notice how the blast of magic disabled their comm systems.

Harry shifted, wincing as pain lanced up his own leg. It didn't go unnoticed. Both their eyes flickered down and widened imperceptibly at the sight of the missing limb. They knew he could regrow limbs. That didn't mean that the sight was familiar to them. This was the first time they saw him like this. It showed.

"Look forget my leg, it'll grow back," Harry said brusquely, shooting a quick healing spell at Natasha's. Her relief was palpable as it popped back into place. "We need to get out of here. The bombs are only going to keep coming. I can change into the thunderbird and fly us down to the ground, where we can rendezvous with the others."

"You read my mind," said Natasha. "We need to get out of here. Whoever is attacking us, we need to stop them."

"No shit," breathed Harry. Steve didn't even bother shooting him a disapproving look. "Alright, I'm going over to that hole in the wall and transform. Stand back." Before he even said that, they stepped back, knowing what was to come.

Harry walked over to the hole and closed his eyes, breathing deep. Because his Animagus form was bigger than usual, the transformation took slightly longer than it would otherwise. Compared to, say, Sirius or Rita Skeeter, who could transform with a snap of the finger or a blink of the eye, his own transformation took twice as long. There was no discomfort that came with it; it was similar to the flow of a waterfall.

He triggered the transformation. Instantly, iridescent golden feathers began sprouting from his skin, two massive sets of wings growing from his back. His face elongated to that of a bird's and his feets morphed into talons. He gave a mighty screech and turned to face Natasha and Steve.

As soon as he did, he crashed to the floor. _What the hell? _Harry glanced down and realised that one of his legs was gone and cursed his luck. Of course. Injuries from when Animagi were human transferred to the Animagus form. Where his talon would be was a bloody stump. At least his wings weren't affected.

He ruffled his feathers, motioning his head for them to get on. Both did, deftly mounting themselves on his back. The building began to creak around them, dust raining down. _We've got to get out of here and fast. _Harry hopped over to the ever edge of the building. This takeoff would be difficult without his leg. That didn't matter now.

He began to beat his wings, standing in one spot. Then he launched forward with his one leg. For a moment, it was unbearably wobbly. With a few twists and turns, he straightened, gliding through the air. His eyes scanned the ground below, searching for Iron Man, Hawkeye or Hulk. Through the debris, it was hard to discern anything.

The devastation below them was something to behold. Not in a good way. If they thought the damage from the Battle of New York was bad, they were mistaken. For miles around the Avengers Tower, New York City was reduced to rubble. The only thing left standing, if you could even call it that, was the tower itself. The dangerous slant and chunk taken out of the bottom betrayed it. Not even Tony's genius engineering could stop it from crumbling.

As they flew away, it finally keeled over. Concrete against concrete, the empty space where it once stood filled only by the memories each of them held. Impossibly loud noises, similar to bombs going off, filled the air and their ears.

And soon real bombs filled the air.

The spaceship in the air, a behemoth of twisted metal, began firing off missiles. A whistling filled the air. Harry barely dodged the first. It whizzed past him, crashing into the rubble and exploding. What used to be a city flew sprayed outwards.

Holy _shit. _

Those things packed some firepower. Harry vaguely recognised similar technology to that of the Chitauri. So there _was _a link between the Voice and the alien attackers. His suspicions, everyone's hunches, were confirmed.

Realising that there wasn't much he could do as the bombs continued flying, Harry dove towards the ground, a crazy plan forming inside his head. Their hands tightened around his feathers, almost pulling them out. The others wouldn't like this, but they couldn't come back from death. For them, it was kaput. Harry wasn't going to have that happen. Not to anyone close to him.

He hovered above the ground. His wingbeats were so strong a clean space was cleared on the street below them. Steve and Natasha slid off, crouching as they landed. The pair glanced up and him, waiting for him to transform.

Harry bit back the regret that rushed upwards in his throat.

Before they could realise what he was doing, Harry took off back into the air. Cries of "HARRY!" and "What the hell!" reached his ears. He blocked them out. His leg was grown back now.

He soared towards the giant spaceship blocking out the sun. Missiles shot towards him. He dodged and dived, wings beating so hard that his shoulders began to ache, his body beginning to burn. The missiles that he couldn't dodge, he sent an uncontrolled blast of magic towards them. Explosions bloomed, fiery balls that he flew straight through, screeching out a war cry. Using magic was one of the benefits of having a magical creature for his Animagus form. That, and the incredible ability that came with the Thunderbird…

He could only imagine how Steve and Natasha were feeling. This was a side of him they'd never seen before. The part that was prepared to do _anything, _even more so than his usual personality. This was the side of him hardened by years of battles and operations, the side that didn't care about emotions and feelings.

Despite this, a single tear rolled off his feathers.

As he drew closer, small figures of all shapes and sizes appeared in the windows, all turned to face towards him. They raised their weapons. He was now too close for the missiles to be of any use against him. Harry narrowed his eyes and gathered the power to release his trump card. It would blow a hole in the side of the ship, gaining him entrance.

A few seconds later, lightning blazed across the sky, a mighty golden bird silhouetted at the centre.

* * *

"_**The city is under attack! Get out as soon as you can. If you can't do that, find cover in a safe place." **_Silence. Then: "_**It is unknown if we will survive this time."**_

Terrified screams filled the air.

* * *

Steve wasn't entirely sure how to feel.

As the city fell around him, so did his faith in his son. He was flying towards the battleship, not giving a damn about them. About the team. So much for working together. His rallying cry from a mere two days ago suddenly lost a lot of the weight it held. Instead of being a rallying cry it now rang like a damaged bell, a lie wrapped up in deceptive, shifted truths. A distraction. A lie. A _lie. _The worst kind of lie. The kind of lie that Harry wouldn't tell.

Sure, Harry was headstrong and rushed into battles with half-baked plans. He liked to play jokes, often annoying his team-mates just for the sake of it. This...this was something else. Something he had seen before. It was lust for battle mixed with the desire to keep his family safe. Put those two emotions together in a mixing bowl and you get someone who doesn't care about the consequences, someone willing to die for the sake of others. Coupled with Harry's literal inability to die and you got something that you never wanted to become, never wanted to see someone else become. He, himself, was willing to die for others, but there was common sense resting in his brain. Somewhere near the back. Deep down.

It was as if someone was inside him, pulling invisible strings. Forcing him to do things he would never do.

"HARRY!" He yelled out, rushing forward, outrage and hurt warring to create a distorted cry.

At the same time, Natasha called out, "What the hell!"

He turned to face her. "That...that's not him."

She grimaced. "It is. He gets like this. We've got to get up there and join the fight. Tony and Clint should be there soon. He's going to do everything he can do stop them."

"And so should we," Steve growled. His fingers curled around the leather strap of his shield, knuckles going white. Screw logic, screw common sense. This was the fight of their life. Their enemy was already far more dangerous, even though they were comfortably sequestered up in the spaceship being a coward.

"Agreed." Natasha tapped the comm in the air. Nothing happened. It was dead. _Damn. _Steve tried his own with a similar result. Nothing. No matter.

"Let's get on top of that building, we can get a visual from there, on both the spaceship and our team members."

And so they began heading upwards to the peak of the half-destroyed building. Occasionally, they found someone still struggling feebly in the rubble and helped them out, then continued.

There were bodies everywhere, men, woman, children. Dressed in all manner of clothing, from strangely archaic yellow robes to bloodstained tuxedos. Even for Natasha, who was a seasoned killer, it was enough to bring bile to the back of her mouth. _And we thought New York was bad._

Halfway up, an impossible large explosion of lightning lit up the sky. _Harry_, Steve thought. They would be up there soon, fighting with the self-sacrificing idiot.

As they reached the top, their comms suddenly crackled back to life. Steve winced, turning the volume down. Static, nothing but static. A frantic voice cut through it, unmistakably Harry's. Panic flooded Steve.

"_Call for Heimdall! Asgard! He's going to Asgard. His name is Thanos. You've got to get there, fast! Call for Hei―" _A terrible, bloodcurdling scream, the likes of which Steve had never heard before, cut off his frantic message. His stomach dropped at the awful sound. A low chuckle backing up the scream along with joyous catcalls, creating a twisted symphony.

_Nothing. _

The comms cut off again. A glance was shared between them.

"Heimdall, open the Bifrost!" they cried in unison. It was only as the rainbow lights engulfed them that they caught sight of shattered gold and red armour, splattered with blood, lying on an outcropping of the building across from them.

* * *

Tony jerked his eyes open. It was dark. So dark. Footsteps sounded before he even had time to register what happened.

"Hello," said a husky voice with a slight mechanical tone tinging it. "We're going to need something from you."

"I'll never give it to you. I don't even know what you want, so that's a bit of a hurdle. Can I have a drink, in the meantime? Always nice to offer your guests a refreshment."

"You'll have no such luxury." He didn't even need to see his attacker to know that she was smirking. "And don't worry, you'll know what we want soon enough, I assure you."

* * *

_I have returned from my extended break. Things have been busy for me. Got a job, finished my exams, passed my Grade Eight Musical Theatre Exam with distinction, which is really nice. It's been difficult to find the time to write this, but I finally got it out. We're nearing the end now. I sincerely hope that I can live up to your expectations, even though I've learned that I need to write what I want to read (thank you Markus Zusak, he's awesome, talking to him was a highlight of the year)._

_The next one should be out next Sunday. Back to the old schedule, aye? Ah, this is nice. There's a certain sense of relief that comes with getting back on top of my writing._

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria _


	34. Rainbow Lights, a Golden City

The New York attacks were a first for the world.

Though the Earth was home to its own supernatural elements, never before had there been proof of extraterrestrial life (at least to the general public; people like SHIELD didn't count). It cast doubt upon the people who resided on the planet. Fear cast a large shadow upon many. For if a large city like New York could be attacked in such a vicious manner, what hope was there for the rest of them?

Once the shock wore off, several things began to happen.

Many began yelling to the skies, standing on street corners and thrusting rustly fliers into the faces of unsuspecting (and unwanting) passersby. This was finally proof of their conspiracies, they claimed. What other events were being hidden, they cried. Others began researching in a frenzy, along with those who were inspired to create works of art, both visual and written. The attack, to those who weren't there in New York to witness the devastation raining down from the sky, was fascinating, exciting even.

Most, however, kept their heads down and continued with their everyday lives. There were superheroes who guarded their world, bringing down threats left and right. Were aliens really such a stretch? Were the old Norse gods really that out there? The world was a strange place. This was just one more thing to add to the books, wasn't it? It was a one-time thing. The Avengers protected them, even if a fairly large number scoffed at them.

Then there were those who knew better. Those who were already a part of the supernatural community of Earth. The witches, the wizards, the magical creatures. Masters of a force hidden from those without it. Even though the vast majority of this community chose to remain ignorant, there were a select few who _knew better. _

They recognised the threat these aliens posed. They knew, even from a distance, that there was a chance something like this could happen again. There couldn't be just one species of extraterrestrial out there. For all they knew, all extraterrestrials could be malevolent.

So, when New York was attacked once more not even a year later, it was with a resigned sorrow that one very clever witch from England made the decision to help. She couldn't stand by and watch when innocent people were blown up by the giant spaceship in the sky.

Twenty minutes after the beginning of the attack found her furiously preparing her old gear from the war, her husband knocking on the doorframe.

"Come in, Ron," she sighed.

"You alright?" Concern coloured his tone.

"Yeah, I sure look alright, don't I?"

He chuckled, then paused. Without looking at him, she could see the realisation on his face. "You're going over, aren't you. To New York."

She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. "I can't stand by and watch, not again. I've been idle for far too long. Harry's over there, as well. I know he can handle himself, but this isn't about him. It's about…"

"It's about those who're unable to defend themselves. I know," finished Ron. He paused for a second as if thinking someone over. "I'm coming, too. Winona, Rose and Hugo are safe at Hogwarts. We'll be back so soon they won't even know that we left."

"Right."

"I'll go get my stuff. Five minutes down in the lounge, okay?"

"Yeah."

Ron left the room, brusque footsteps slowly growing quieter down the carpeted hallway. Hermione couldn't believe her luck. She expected Ron to try and encourage her to stay home. It was so long since they'd done something like this. True, Ron was an Auror, but that was different than travelling to New York to help in the fight against aliens.

She changed into her polished green armour made of basilisk skin. It weighed far less on her conscience to use it. The fact that it was significantly more durable than dragonhide armour was also a plus, along with the fact that it cost nothing for her to acquire. Even though she didn't go out to fight, as it wasn't in her nature, she always kept her skill level with duelling up. Being prepared for the unknown was something she believed in wholeheartedly. Now, it was paying off, as she strapped her wand into its forearm holster.

She grabbed the international Portkey that they would have used to visit Harry in two weeks and brought it down to the lounge. She and Ron were on good terms with the Avengers and occasionally visited the tower. Discussing theories on science versus magic with Tony Stark was a highlight of those visits, as well as visiting the high-tech labs that were in the towers.

Ron was already waiting downstairs, standing anxiously next to the couch. His fingers were tapping a tattoo on his thigh, eyes darting around. He, too, was in the basilisk skin armour, only his was far more battered than her own. He used it almost daily at his job. Scales were dislodged, the brilliant green far duller. His wand was stowed in the holster strapped to his left forearm

He looked up as she entered the room. She lifted the portkey, tapping her wand against the nondescript hairbrush, muttering the incantation to change the time that they were going. It began to pulse a light blue.

Ron touched his finger to it. "Whatever happens out there, we'll get through it."

"Agreed. We don't have any other option."

Then the portkey activated and they vanished in a whirlwind of rainbow lights.

* * *

Instead of landing on the floor of the Avengers Tower common room, Ron and Hermione found themselves falling through the air, the ground rapidly approaching. The wind made their eyes water, Hermione's hair being torn out of its braid with the force of it. She let out a surprised yelp, yanking her wand out and shouting, "_ARRESTO MOMENTUM!" _Her voice was snatched away by the greedy gale around them. She shrieked the spell again.

Her heart stuttered as they continued falling. The ground grew impossibly close.

A mere second before they collided with the ground, an invisible force stopped them. An inch further and they would have been gory pancakes on the ruined cityscape beneath them. Now that they were safe, they were dropped to the ground. She groaned, already feeling the ache that would blossom in a few hours.

"What the bloody hell happened to the tower?" asked Ron. He clambered to his feet, brushing rubble out of his clothes. His eyes flickered upwards. "It's quite something to see it in real life, ain't it?"

Hermione followed his eyeline to the giant ship casting an infintely large shadow. It looked like a small moon, it was so big. An island in the sky. She squinted, seeing something strange in the side of it. A….hole? A gaping hole with ragged edges. Something had blown a hole in the side of it. A small smirk found its way to her lips.

"Is that...Steve? I think Natasha's there, too!" Ron's exclaimation shattered her thoughts. "On that building there."

Once again, she squinted. Two faint figures were standing on the top of a crumbling building. If it weren't for Steve's garishly American costume (how he kept his dignity when he walked around dressed as a flag, she would never know) she would have mistaken it for someone else.

"I think it is. Let's get over there, shall we?"

"Quickly, too. They look like they're going to pop off somewhere." His eyes lit up. "I've got a trick we can use."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" She already knew the answer.

"Not in the slightest, m'dear. Hold tight." He snaked an arm around her waist. She gripped her arms tight around his shoulders. "_Protrudo Autem!"_

A violet light pulsed out over the ground which rippled ominously. Hermione gave a yelp of surprise as they were propelled upwards. Soaring high, she could see the entire city, a large portion of it destroyed. A certain part of it, leading from the tower and zig-zagging towards the ship was a whole lot worse than others. _What in Merlin's name? That couldn't have anything to do with the explosion in the side of the ship, could it? _High above the buildings, it didn't seem like such a stretch.

"_VIVERCULIS!_"

They lurched forward downwards in a diagonal, heading directly towards the roof where the two figures were. There was no mistaking them for anyone other than Steve and Natasha.

As they landed, Hermione cast a cushioning charm so no bones were broken. Ron did the same, making their landing rather pleasant.

"Nice to see you two again. We need all the help we can get." Natasha didn't even turn around, still observing the ship. "Fancy going to an alien planet?"

"Huh?" said Ron.

"Harry just commed us that we need to get to Asgard. We were about to call for Heimdall, but saw you falling and decided to wait."

In any other situation, Hermione would be asking endless questions, buzzing so fast she looked blurred. "Where is Harry?"

Steve growled. "He left us and went off on his own."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "He'd only do that if...no, he thinks he's going to die. He'll die over and over again."

"The bastard doesn't think," said Natasha. "As nice as bitching about Harry is, we've got to get going. Stand together, please." They huddled together, Hermione dwarfed by Steve. Sometimes she forgot just how tall he was.

"Let's hope this works," Natasha muttered.

"It will. It has to." Steve swallowed, then called out the sentence that Thor made sure each of the Avengers knew. "Heimdall, open the Bifrost!"

Instantly, the air shifted. As she breathed it in, Hermione noted that it seemed sharper. It was almost crackling with energy. She could feel it running over her skin, dancing a tango. A glance at Ron revealed he was the same. The clouds above them began lighting up, swirling together into a conical shape.

Rainbow lights shot down, surrounding them. In an instant, the group of four were hurtling throughout space. Earth was left far behind. The sensation was as if some crazy wizard combined Apparition, a Portkey and Floo travel into one, then multiplied it by one hundred. To say it was nauseating was an understatement.

Hermione's arms were pinned to her side with the force of the Bifrost. Her head was locked in place as well. Stars glinted on the corner of her vision, through the rainbow vortex, coming and going faster than she could see. Her mind whirled with the possibilities that this method of travel offered. Those thoughts were soon overpowered with the fact that she was no longer on Earth. _I'm in space. Holy mother of Merlin, I'm in space! _Usually one to stay calm, she found it difficult to do that at this moment.

A quick flick of her eyes upwards revealed that they were nearing the end of the Bifrost. She could see a tiny, golden room, two pinpricks standing inside it. People. Asgardians, she told herself. Legs tensing, Hermione prepared herself for the landing. Making a bad impression on immensely powerful beings she previously believed were mythical was not on the top of her to-do list.

The Bifrost spat them out into a spherical, golden room. Hermione stumbled but managed to keep her balance, straightening up. The same could be said for Steve and Natasha. Unfortunately, Ron was not so lucky. He tripped over his own feet and planted his face quite soundly on the floor. Hermione couldn't help snickering.

Ron Weasley straightened up so quickly that if she hadn't seen him on the floor, she wouldn't have believed he was there in the first place. His cheeks were flushed a brilliant red.

"Welcome to Asgard. I foresaw your arrival." A soft melodious voice met her ears. It came from one of the figures in front of them, a woman. Soft golden curls tinged slightly with an elegant grey were intricately piled up on her head. A regal-looking dress hung off her, screaming royalty. "It is good that you are here."

Hermione bowed her head, even though she didn't know who the woman was. Theories were sneaking up in the back of her mind, though. "It is an honour."

"Your respect is appreciated, though this is not the time nor place for it, my dear." Hermione straightened, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. "I am Frigga, and this here is Heimdall."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

Frigga smiled softly. "Come, there is much to prepare for and not much time." She began walking down a stunning bridge, towards the most opulent place Hermione ever laid eyes open. If it was any other time, she would feel awe.

But as the group of four followed instantly, the only thing they felt was dread curling deep in their gut.

* * *

Harry grit his teeth and spit blood out of his mouth. A fist flew down again, again, again. His arms were tied, arms suspended with cuffs that stopped his magic. His body was battered, bruised. It would be a sight tomorrow.

His attacker continued beating him, scoring his skin like someone would a leg of meat. She seemed desperate to get some kind of reaction out of him. _ha. _He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Instead, he grinned up at her. No amount of pain would stop him. "It's going to take a lot more than that to break me."

She screamed in frustration and took a knife to his face. Warm, metallic blood dribbled into his mouth. Once again, he spit it out.

A low rumbling voice reached his ears. "Daughter, stand back. He will speak, eventually. It is inevitable. He's an interesting one, though. He seems to resist all manner of attacks. I wonder if he could resist the power of one of the stones, though?"

A purple glow filled Harry's eyes and all he knew was pain.

* * *

_Another update in less than a week? Who is she? Who am I? WHAT AM I? __**WHY AM I?**_ _Ha. I promise I haven't been infected with anything except the writing bug. I hope that you enjoyed this. I am having a lot of fun doing this. My fingers are once again flying across the keyboard and it's the most natural thing, for me at least. _

_Anyway, I digress._

_Thank you for all those who have reviewed, read, followed and favourited. We've reached 500,000 views, which is never something that I thought I would achieve. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you, my readers. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I'll stop before I turn sappier than a kauri tree, but you get a general idea._

_The next chapter will focus on what happened to Harry after he blew a hole in the side of Thanos' ship, how he found out about Asgard, and how he got to the point he is at now. Also, Tony, Clint and Bruce/The Hulk. _

_Once again, thank you, so, so much (I don't know when to stop, do I?)._

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria_


	35. And So It Begins

Flames bloomed around Harry as he shrunk back into human form. Leftover lightning fizzled on his skin, singing holes in his armour. The city was far below him now. Citizens appeared as ants, buildings as destroyed sandcastles.

He swallowed.

The anger inside him was raging, burning, a black hatred. Harry strode forward, eyes sharp, wand clutched in his hand. The bodies of aliens similar to the Chitauri lay on the floor, destroyed by the blast that tore the side of the ship open. He stepped over them, eyes fixed on the wide opening at the end of the cavernous room. His boots echoed around, creating a drumbeat. The sound of war, vengeance, anger, hate.

Metallic walls rose around him, debris occasionally falling from the ceiling. Harry couldn't help the feeling of grim satisfaction. Sure, it was his most powerful move as a Thunderbird. These monsters now knew what he could do. They knew that he was coming and wasn't going to stop until he won.

A wheezing groan came from the floor in front of him. An alien, covered in blood, a large piece of shrapnel protruding from its chest, rolled over. Tongue lolling, it hauled itself up and clumsily charged at Harry, eyes wide. Harry merely stepped to the side and sent a blasting hex at the floor. It fell through towards the city, flailing in the air.

"Well, isn't that interesting." A metallic voice, husky in tone, came from the doorway. Harry sharply looked up. A blue woman, with no hair and metal adorning her face and head, stood in the space. "My father will be fascinated with you." She took a few steps forward. "But that doesn't mean I can't play with you first."

Harry frowned. From her stance, she was extremely well trained in combat, lithe muscles running up and down her arms. Weapons upon weapons were strapped to her clothes. They gleamed menacingly. He watched as she reached up to her ear and pressed what seemed to be a comm..._shit._

He ran forward, wand out. "_Petrificus Totalus!"_ She stepped to the side of it, and all the other spells he launched at her, all while giving him a vicious grin.

"He's in Bay 72, father. In possession of a Stone."

A rumbling reply came. "Well done, daughter. Keep him at bay, I shall be there soon." Harry would recognise that voice anywhere, the voice that haunted his every waking and sleeping hour.

"Yes, Father. With pleasure." She took her finger down from her ear, glaring at Harry with the force of a thousand suns. If looks could kill he would be dead as a doorknob. "You've caused us a lot of trouble, you know."

Harry lunged forward, launching a quick series of jabs at her. The moves were learned off Natasha. "Well, what's life without a little fun?" She held him off, kicking him in the torso with inhuman strength. He flew backwards, landing hard against a wall.

"Everything. Fun is for those who are weak!" She sprinted towards Harry, unsheathing a glinting blade. Harry quickly grabbed half of his own staff, fending her off. He sent another blasting charm to the ground around her feet. It was ripped apart. She jumped before it hit, twisting over his head.

"You're going to have to do better than that," she spat. Before he could twist around, a sharp pain erupted in his gut. A glance down revealed the point of her blade coming out of his torso. Blood spurted out of him. She yanked the blade back, Harry groaning in pain. "I think that will put you down until my father gets here."

Harry slumped to the ground. It appeared to all those around him that he was fading in and out of consciousness. The invisibility cloak covered the wound from prying eyes. Blue Lady (Harry needed a name, and that was as good as any) didn't know that he could heal. Using this to his advantage would be smart, very smart.

"Curse...you," Harry spat out. His breaths wheezed in and out of him. That part, at least, wasn't fake. The healing may stitch him up impossibly fast, but the pain was still as potent as ever. So all the groaning, all the blood gushing onto the floor, wasn't a performance.

Blue Lady made a disgruntled noise. "Keep quiet." Her booted foot came down hard on his face. "Don't make me hurt you more."

"You can try."

Harry took this opportunity. His arms flew up, wrapping around her legs. He twisted around. Blue Lady yelled in outrage as she fell to the floor, Harry suddenly appearing on top of her. The sharp point of the Elder Wand dug into her throat. Harry kicked her weapons away. They skittered to a halt on one of the corpses.

"You won't hold me long," she spat, struggling under his grip. The sheer hatred in her black, black eyes almost surprised him. Anger, frustration,

"Try again." Harry couldn't help the satisfaction that he felt. "_Petrificus totalus._" Blue Lady's arms snapped to her sides, her legs doing the same. Only her eyes remained mobile, frantically darting side to side. "I would say I'm sorry, but you stabbed me, so we're even."

Speaking of.

Harry glanced down at the wound in his torso. A quick patdown revealed it was nearly healed. In around a minute, there would be nothing to ever indicate he'd been stabbed except a shiny scar. Even that only lasted for a few days at the most.

He stood, eyes scanning the room. Every move he took echoed. There was no one around to see what he was doing, so he started forward, towards the exit. The Elder Wand was still clutched in his hand.

As he moved to take another step forward, he was suddenly frozen. Green hieroglyphic looking lights sprang up around him, ensnaring his limbs and mind.

He blinked.

The next thing he knew, Harry was on his knees, arms suspended above him. He slowly looked around, taking in the room. No windows, dark, claustrophobic. Metallic walls showed a shadowy reflection of him. His eyes widened in shock. This was impossible. It was almost as if someone froze him in time…no, that wasn't possible, was it? It couldn't be. If so, his mission just became a whole lot harder.

Harry winced at that thought. This wasn't how he wanted this mission to go. This wasn't how he saw it going. Maybe rushing in headfirst, leaving behind his team, wasn't the best thing to do. But it was too late to think over those decisions. The regret burning just behind his heart would have to wait, have to be ignored. This wasn't the time, nor place.

At least the comforting thrum of the Resurrection Stone, though he was starting to suspect it was something more than that, was on his chest, holding the cloak together. All of his other armour was removed, placed somewhere away from his sight. Probably in another room, or disposed of entirely. It wouldn't surprise him. The fact that the stone was still there made him feel a little bit reassured. Strangely enough, the comm that was malfunctioning still sat snug in his ear.

The wall in front of him hissed open, an extremely tall doorway revealing itself. Two figures stepped through. The familiar sight of Blue Lady, and a huge purple...man? No, he couldn't be a man. He was too big, his presence too crushing. The slight smile on his face sent shivers down Harry's spine. It was knowing, as if he was already winning. The last time Harry saw a smile like that, to that degree, was on the faces of one of the Death Eaters.

He instantly knew that this man, this creature, this monster, was the one responsible for the attack on New York. It was the way he held himself. A leader, someone who knew what they wanted and would stop at nothing to get it. This was the voice who sometimes spoke to him, gave him that teasing warning as if they could ever prepare enough for it.

Harry grit his teeth. Fear may be weighing him down but he wouldn't let it overtake him. That would prove detrimental. No, he must stay calm, keep his limbs from shaking and look his enemies dead in the eyes like he always did. They wouldn't see his fear, wouldn't feel his terror. All they would receive was the anger, the years of training and his eyes when they grew cold, an icy fire raging inside of them.

He had to be strong. Strong for those he selfishly left behind, strong for those who couldn't defend themselves. Strong for his teammates, his family, his friends. He needed to be strong for himself, to get himself through. He would push through, he always did. There was a way out of this, and he was going to find it. Soon. Waiting around like this wasn't an option when the cause of the attacks stood directly in front of him, patient and dangerous.

"What do you want," he spat.

"Something you have," the rumbling voice replied. "I think you know what it is, don't you?" Harry mind immediately fell to the Resurrection Stone on his chest. He kept his eyes ahead, not giving them so much as a flicker to indicate what he was thinking about. So he was right about the Resurrection Stone being more, being part of a set.

"Absolutely no idea."

Blue Lady's fist struck hard and fast against his cheek. His head whipped to the side with the force of it, blood bursting out of his mouth. The horrible sensation of warm, metallic liquid filled his mouth.

"Try again," she hissed, tense, ready to land another blow.

"Now, daughter, we needn't be hasty. I think an introduction is in order. He is powerful enough to wield an Infinity Stone. Don't you think he is worth giving a little respect?" The purple man was calm, collected. It ground Harry's gears.

"Go on, then, why don't you? It's not like I have a choice."

"Respect goes both ways, Harry Potter." He took a step forward, ignoring the way his daughter shifted uncomfortably. "I am Thanos, and this is my daughter Nebula. You have something I want, and it is right there."

His finger pointed towards the glowing orange stone on Harry's chest. It sparked suddenly. Thanos pulled his finger back, seemingly as calm as ever. He stood back up.

"Unfortunately, we can't seem to reach it, no matter what we do. So, I am going to try something that may cause you a bit of discomfort. By the end of it, you'll hand the stone over, I guarantee it. No matter how much you heal, you can't beat us, do you understand? And if that doesn't work, I'm sure the other...motivation we have will prove sufficient."

Harry's eyes widened. When people spoke like that, there were usually other people to use as persuasion. He closed his eyes, branching out with his mind, a handy trick that Hermione taught him. His magic spread out in tendrils. The voice of Thanos faded into white noise. There were thousands of presences on the ship that he could feel, but there were only a few he was looking for.

He found them, far away, on the other end of the ship. Tony, Clint and Bruce. All woozy, in agony, all with one thing in common. One word playing on their minds. _Asgard. Asgard. Asgard. Asgard. Asgard. _That must mean…

Harry's eyes burst open. With one frantic burst of magic, he activated the comm in his ear. It crackled to life and he screamed, "Call for Heimdall! Asgard! He's going to Asgard! His name is Thanos! You've got to get there, fast! Call for Hei―" Unbearable pain engulfed his left arm. He cried out in agony, the comm in his ear crackling and then cracking.

This was ten times worse than the cruciatus curse. Thousands, millions, of white-hot knives stabbed at his arm, while rabid creatures tore it apart from the inside. He was on fire, he was coming apart. Before his very eyes, his arm was crumbling into ash, coming up closer and closer towards his shoulder. The pain intensified, a purple light glowing at the edge of his vision.

Then, as quickly as it came, it stopped.

The cuff that was previously holding his wrist dangled pathetically in the air. Harry panted hard, greedily gulping in air, his body spasming from the aftereffects of the torture.

"That is what we're trying right now. See, until you give me the Soul Stone, I am going to keep turning you to ash." The green gem in his gauntlet glowed, the strange green light appearing around his ruined arm. He watched in horrified awe as time rewound itself, his arm reforming back to normal. "I'll do this again and again until you can't take it anymore, do you understand. You're in for a world of pain."

"Bring it on, you won't break me."

Thanos only smiled. "We'll see about that."

And then the pain began anew.

* * *

And on Asgard, the armies began preparing themselves. Steve, Natasha, Ron, Hermione, Thor, Frigga, Odin, Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg, Sif, and every single defence they had was erected. When Thanos came they would be ready.

There was no other option but to _be _ready as Thanos steadily drew closer with each passing minute.

* * *

_Hi! How'sit going? After this, there are two more chapters, then this story comes to a close. I'll be extremely sad to see it go. It's been a major part of my life for a year now. The last chapter will be released on the 24th of February, exactly a year after the first chapter was published._

_The next one comes out in two days, so be ready for the rollercoaster._

_Sincerely,  
Mariadoria :)_


	36. The End of it All

_This is the last chapter. I feel kind of bittersweet. But, here it is. Enjoy!_

* * *

Tony's head slumped down. The ruined remains of his Iron Man suit clung to his body. A chuckle escaped his lips. It mutated into a terrible cough, wracking his frame with agony. Dried blood clung to his skin like a lifeline, just as he clung to the shreds of resolve in his mind. His mind was still working, though his body lay prone, shattered. Had Thanos ever heard of the word restraint? Apparently not, he thought bitterly.

He may not have a way out of here right now, but he would find out. He wasn't a genius for nothing. While pain shot through his body with every move he took, his mind was still as sharp as ever. The fog of pain was pushed away, leaving him as clever as ever. He snorted. _Clever as ever. _He was apparently not as lucid as he thought if he was rhyming.

Thanos...Thanos had ripped through his mind in search of the other Stones. The overwhelming feeling of _blue _was something that would haunt him for the rest of his days. The feeling of someone inside his head...it was indescribable. Then the guilt when Thanos got what he wanted, the location of the Tesseract, the Space Stone. The ship was on its way to Asgard and Tony was just sitting here, unable to do anything.

The way Thanos kept parroting on about _respect_ put a fury in him. He talked about respect while raping Tony's mind and leaving him broken on the floor.

No.

Tony wasn't going to be left here, leaning pathetically on a wall, while the rest of his team were out there risking their lives. Though his body was broken, though his mind was teetering on the edge, he would push forward. It was his fault that Thanos knew where the Tesseract was. Making up for that by keeping on keeping on was essential.

He pushed himself off the ground, biting back the gasp that bubbled in his throat. The pain was unbearable. The door was three metres away, a smashed keypad looking thing next to it. Three metres. He could handle three metres.

Suddenly, the doors blew up. Tony was buffeted back against the wall by the force of it. Through squinted eyes, he could see a hunched silhouette, arm missing below the elbow. The air around them seemed to be crackling, uncontrollable. Tony recognised that crackling magic in an instant. _Harry. _

"We've got to go, there's not much time," Harry rasped. His voice was rough like he's been screaming. "I already have Clint and Bruce. They don't know that we're out yet. Here." Harry knelt down, placing his hand over a patch of exposed skin. His eyes fluttered shut, a faint glow emanating from his hands.

The pain inside Tony slowly began to disappear, until only a faint ache remained. He breathed a sigh of relief. Magic (science they just didn't understand yet) may be incredibly annoying at times, but he wouldn't deny how helpful the healing parts of it were.

"If I had my wand, I could heal you more." Harry stood, face twisting. "We're nearly at Asgard."

"Already? How fast does this ship move?"

Harry sighed. "Fast enough. I think that Steve and Natasha are already on Asgard if they got my message." He helped Tony to his feet, the ache in his bones slowly going away. "Hold on to my arm."

Tony did so, immediately being pulled into a dark tunnel ten times too small. He was spat out the other end, staggering into a wall. If there was one thing he hated with a passion, it was Apparition. Harry, of course, landed smoothly. That was probably the only thing okay with him.

Now that he got a better look, Harry looked like death. Lacerations, deep and brutal, covered his body, his arms, his face. They weren't healing. The most obvious wound was his missing arm. Where a stump would usually be bloody, it was grey and crumbling, pieces of dead skin flaking off.

On the other side of the room were Clint and Bruce. Both were fine physically. The haunted looks in their eyes betrayed their fear. Tony knew that despite his best efforts he looked the same.

"Thanos doesn't know of this room yet. I'll shield your mind so there's less chance of him finding us with the Stones. We just have to wait until we get to Asgard." Harry placed a hand on Tony's forehead. The following sensation was cool, relaxing, totally different from the Mind Stone.

And so they waited, discussing strategy and remembering good times before Thanos attacked.

* * *

Natasha felt her limbs stiffen with the familiar tension of battle the second the call went out. The call of the approaching ship. The call of the oncoming war. The people around her, Asgardians and Humans alike, were doing the same, grim smiles on their faces. Eyes glinted with determination and the tension in the air was so high you could cut it with a blunt butterknife.

Beside her, Steve, Ron and Hermione stood ready. They were at the top of a tower, with a perfect view of the city. Ron and Hermione would teleport them down into the battle, in the best place, the second Thanos arrived. Asgard looked perfect, a golden city untouched by time.

By the end of today, it would be ablaze, buildings crumbled, the site of a war. Thanos wasn't going to get to the Tesseract of the Aether. She would die before that happened. All of Asgard's might was going into this fight. She was putting ll of her might into this fight. Life or death, the fate of the universe was at stake.

Thanks to Loki's intel, loathe as she was to admit it, they learned that Thanos only had a small army this time around, compared to the Chitauri nearly a year earlier. Tony blowing up the Chitauri Mothership really did a number on his troops. It also (in theory) did a number on Thanos' ego that only served to make him more determined.

The thought of Tony brought her thoughts to her team. Steve was here with her, along with Thor. Harry, Tony, Bruce and Clint were missing. Well, Harry was on Thanos' ship somewhere. A deep dread coiled in her gut, but she pushed it away. If there was anything her team was good at, especially Harry, it was surviving. Beating the odds. The Avengers were a team of survivors who fought for what they knew was right.

The dark shadow of Thanos' ship rose on the horizon. The sheer enormity of it struck her once again. In New York, it was the biggest ship she'd ever seen. Now, it was impossible. It could house the tower seven times and still have room for more.

"I never thought I would see the day," whispered Hermione. She grasped Natasha's wrist, ready to teleport the second the signal was given. Her hand was shaking. "War, I mean. I thought it was over for me."

"War never ends," Natasha said. It was a statement she knew to be true, one she was intimately familiar with.

"I know. I just wish it wasn't." She glanced down at the ground, hair pulled back in a braid.

"We're here now, we fight," piped up Steve. "We have to fight for what is right. It'll work out."

"Yeah."

They fell into a tense silence. Natasha avoided fidgeting, waiting for the signal to teleport.

The silence was suddenly broken by a barrage of missiles shooting down on Asgard. Twenty metres above the buildings, they hit a golden shield, starbursts spreading out among the billowing explosions. The shield was erected by Odin, an emergency measure rarely taken but always remembered. She was immensely thankful for it.

Smaller shuttles spilt out of the side of Thanos' ship like parasites, all undoubtedly carrying the troops primed to attack. Hermione's hand tightened. Ron did the same with Steve.

A great bellowing cry came. Unsubtle as it was, it was the signal for them to go. Natasha braced herself for the unpleasantness of teleportation. She'd done it once before, to know what the sensation was. Living without it wouldn't be a trouble at all.

Hermione turned on her heel. With a crack, they disappeared and landed in the middle of the courtyard just as the alien troops cracked through the golden shield. It began crumbling, the missiles finally running out. At least Asgard wouldn't be blown to smithereens before the fighting could even begin.

A blue beam appeared from the bottom of the ship, a dark figure stepping out of it the second it touched the ground. With his purple skin, the golden gauntlet on his wrist and the glinting jewels inside the gauntlet, she knew without a doubt that this was Thanos.

And as she looked up, she saw a sight that made her heart flutter with joy, with hope. In the sky was a golden bird with four wings, three minuscule figures on its back. _Harry. _The rest of the team was here. The chances of victory in her mind shot up.

The Avengers were here.

And by God were they ready to fight.

* * *

Harry swooped down to a courtyard, landing a few over from where Thanos touched down. His descent was wobbly, affected by his crippled back wing. The damage transferred from human form to animagus form, and half of his arm was missing.

As he touched down, Clint, Bruce and Tony jumped off his back and began sprinting towards the courtyard where Thanos was. He didn't shrink down to normal size. Instead, he took flight again, circling around a few spires, giving himself time to power up.

When lightning circled around his body, Harry dived towards Thanos. His team, including Ron and Hermione (he filed the surprise away for later), stepped away, knowing what he was about to do.

With a mighty screech, lightning launched from his skin, slamming into Thanos with the force of a thousand suns. Harry kept the barrage going, it becoming more powerful the closer he got.

A purple beam cleaved through the lightning. It hit him directly in the chest, knocking him off course. The familiar pain of the Power Stone rocketed through his body.

Harry crashed to the ground, straight through a building. Rubble fell down around him. Instantly, he shrunk down to being a human again, scrambling out of the way of a massive piece of concrete that would have crushed him.

A gaping hole was in his chest, slowly healing. Nothing new. He gritted his teeth through the pain and walked out of the destroyed tower, towards where a burned Thanos was fighting with the Avengers.

And so it began.

For hours upon hours, they fought against Thanos and the infinity stones. Every move they made was countered. Natasha slipping under him to get the gauntlet while everyone held him down. Tony blasting him with endless repulsor shots while Harry launched magic at him like never before. Steve's shield flying through the air, batted away like it was a pesky fly. They were injured, they were battered and bruised, and yet the refused to give up. Thanos wouldn't win, and they wouldn't lose, even if winning would mean losing their lives.

Somehow, their fighting migrated into the vaults of Asgard, ruined by the Power Stone. Harry had grabbed an axe along the way.

Suddenly, he saw an opening. Thanos was attacking Steve and Tony, all eyes on them. Harry heaved the axe through the air with all of his strength, screaming out both in rage and in pain. The axe came down and cleaved through Thanos' arm.

It fell to the ground with a roaring finality.

Instantly, Thor leapt forward and bashed Thanos in the head with Mjolnir. Steve drove his shield into Thano's chest, they all attacked. Harry launched one more spell and their combined efforts finally downed the mad titan. After hours and hours, the fight was finally over.

With bile in his throat, Harry raised the axe one more time and brought it down on Thanos' neck.

_It was over._

* * *

The recovery period after what came to be known as the Great War of Asgard was long and strenuous. The Infinity Stones were returned to their rightful places, with Harry still hanging onto the Soul Stone. Asgard would never be the same again, marching on into a new era.

And the Avengers.

Oh, the Avengers.

They returned to Earth, battered and bruised but victorious. The world knew of their victory. New York slowly started to recover. Eventually, they returned to their old rhythms, never quite the same though. Harry needed a prosthetic arm, gladly supplied by Tony. He finally got together (officially with Natasha) and forged an even stronger bond with Steve.

For him, life was as good as it could be. He had a family, not joined by blood, but by something stronger. Their bond was unbreakable. And that was all he needed.

And as he sat on the roof of Avengers towers, gazing out over the jagged and recovering skyline of New York City, he smiled gently to himself.

This was only the beginning.

* * *

_We're here. At the end of the story. By God, this has been a journey and a half. It's been a year and two days, a year of good day and bad days that I will treasure throughout my writing journey. I have learned so much and am so thankful for the joy that this story has brought me._

_I won't keep you for long, but I just want to say thank you. Thank you so much. _

_Until the next story, my dear, dear friends,  
Mariadoria_

_:)_


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